-*%••**»'    .•»•*• 


. 


• 
• 

• 

- 


' 


GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 

This  portrait  is  known  as  the  "  Gibbs-Channing  portrait."     It  was  painted  in  1795  by  Gilbert  Stuart,  and  w  now  owned  by  Mr. 
P.  Avery,  by  "whose  kind  permission  it  is  here  reproduced. 


THE 'STORY  OF  THE 
REVOLUTION' 


BY 

HENRY   CABOT   LODGE 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 
CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  1903,  BY 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


TO 

THE  ARMY  AND  NAVY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

VICTORS  OF 

MANILA,   SANTIAGO   AND    PORTO   RICO, 

WORTHY    SUCCESSORS    OF    THE    SOLDIERS    AND    SAILORS 
WHO   UNDER   THE   LEAD    OF   GEORGE   WASHINGTON 

WON   AMERICAN   INDEPENDENCE, 

THIS    STORY    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 

IS   DEDICATED. 


226569 


.CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   I. 
THE  FIRST  STEP i 

CHAPTER   II. 
THE  FIRST  BLOW 25 

CHAPTER   III 
THE  SECOND  CONGRESS       ........      53 

s    CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH 70 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  SIEGE  OF  BOSTON 97 

CHAPTER   VI. 
THE  SPREAD  OF  REVOLUTION 118 

CHAPTER   VII. 
INDEPENDENCE 136 

CHAPTER   VIII. 
THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  HUDSON 180 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   IX. 

PAGE 

TRENTON  AND  PRINCETON          .  .         .         .         .202 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE  BURGOYNE   CAMPAIGN         .          .          .         .         .         .         .228 

CHAPTER    XL 
THE  RESULTS  OF  SARATOGA 263 

CHAPTER    XII. 
FABIUS      .         .          .          .          .          .  -          .          .          .279 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
How  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED      .          .  .         .         .         .     325 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE  INVASION  OF  GEORGIA        .          .  •         •         •         •     353 

CHAPTER    XV. 

THE  SOUTH  RISES  IN  DEFENCE  .  ....     367 

CHAPTER    XVI. 
KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS        .....     380 

CHAPTER    XVII. 
GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH  .....     409 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE -.     448 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

YORKTOWN  .  ....       491 


CONTENTS  vii 


CHAPTER   XX. 


PAGE 


How    PEACE    WAS    MADE.  .         .         .     528 

CHAPTER    XXI. 
How  THE  WAR  ENDED     .  ....     543 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE  MEANING  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION.         .         .         .     552 


APPENDIX 
I. 

THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 579 


THE  PARIS  TREATY  . 


III. 
GENERAL  WASHINGTON'S   ADDRESS  TO  CONGRESS   ON  RESIGNING 

His  COMMISSION     ........     589 

INDEX   .  59i 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON Frontispiece 

Painted,  in  7795,   by  Gilbert  Stuart. 


CARPENTERS'  HALL,  PHILADELPHIA       ..... 

JOHN    JAY                     ......... 

PAGE 

•        3 
4 

Engra-ved,  in  1783,  from  a  pencil  drawing  by  Du  Simitiere,  made  in  7779. 

4. 

From  a  painting  by  Klyth,  1765. 
SAMUEL    ADAMS       

•       S 

Engraved  from  the  portrait  painted  by  Copley,  in  1773. 

PEYTON    RANDOLPH,    OF    VIRGINIA,    THE    FIRST    PRESIDENT    OF    THE 

CONTINENTAL    CONGRESS 8 

From  a  painting  by  C.   IV.  Peale,  1774. 

RICHARD    HENRY    LEE,    OF    VIRGINIA         ......          8 

Painting  by  C.  IV.  Peale,  1791. 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON  AT  THE  AGE  OF  FORTY   ....    9 

Painted  by  Charles  IVillson  Pealc,  1772. 

THE      ASSEMBLY      ROOM,     CARPENTERS'     HALL,     WHERE     THE    CONTI 
NENTAL    CONGRESS    FIRST    MET    .  .  .  .  .  .II 

GENERAL    JOHN    SULLIVAN      .  .  .  .  .  .  .  •        I? 

From  the  original  pencil-sketch  made  by  John   Trumbnll,  at  Exeter,  N.  H.,  in  1790. 

THE    ARTICLES    OF    ASSOCIATION     AND     RESOLUTIONS    ADOPTED     BY 

THE    FIRST    CONGRESS  AT   PHILADELPHIA,  OCTOBER   2O,    1774       19 

Reproduced,  by  permission,  from  the  original  document,  now  in  the  Lenox  Library. 

JOHN    DICKINSON,    OF    PENNSYLVANIA      ......        2O 

From  a  painting  by  C.  IV.  Peale,  1791. 

CONCORD    BRIDGE    AT    THE    PRESENT    TIME      .             .             .             .             .27 
THE    OLD    BUCKMAN    TAVERN,    BUILT     1690 30 

THE    OLD    NORTH    CHURCH      ........       31 

ix 


x  LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PACK 

PAUL  REVERE  ROUSING  THE  INHABITANTS  ALONG  THE  ROAD  TO 

LEXINGTON 33 

PAUL  REVERE,  BY  ST.   MEMIN,   1804      ......  34 

MAJOR  PITCAIRN'S  PISTOLS  ........  35 

HARRINGTON  HOUSE,  LEXINGTON 36 

THE  FIGHT  ON  LEXINGTON  COMMON,  APRIL   1 9,   1775  .         •         •  37 

GENERAL  VIEW  OF   LEXINGTON   COMMON   AT  THE   PRESENT   TIME  39 

LORD  PERCY          ..........  40 

From  a  print  lent  by  IV.  C.  Crane. 

BARRETT    HOUSE,    NEAR    CONCORD 42 

THE    FIGHT    AT    CONCORD    BRIDGE,    APRIL    19,    1775  .  .  .43 

FLAG     CARRIED     BY     THE      BEDFORD      MILITIA      COMPANY     AT     CON 
CORD    BRIDGE       .........       45 

WRIGHT    TAVERN,    CONCORD,    AT    THE    PRESENT    TIME     .  .  .46 

RECEIPT     SIGNED    BY    THE    MINUTE    MEN     OF    IPSWICH,    MASS.,    WHO 

MARCHED    ON    THE    ALARM,    APRIL    19,     1775  •  •  -47 

THE    RETREAT    FROM    CONCORD        .......       48 

GRAVE    OF    BRITISH    SOLDIERS,    NEAR    THE    BRIDGE    AT    CONCORD      .       50 
THE    MINUTE    MAN    AT    CONCORD    BRIDGE          .  .  .  .  •       51 

Daniel  C.  French,  Sculptor. 

JOHN    HANCOCK      ..........       55 

Kngravedfrom  the  portrait  painted  by  Copley  in  1774. 

THE      RUINS     OF     TICONDEROGA,     LOOKING     NORTHWEST,     SHOWING 

THE    REMAINS    OF    THE    BASTION    AND    BARRACKS  .  .       60 

THE    CAPTURE    OF    TICONDEROGA    BY    ETHAN    ALLEN        .  .  .       6l 

A     NEAR    VIEW    OF    THE    RUINS    OF     THE     OFFICERS*    QUARTERS     AT 

TICONDEROGA       .........       64 

THE    BUNKER    HILL    INTRENCHING    PARTY 75 

PRESCOTT    ON    THE    PARAPET    AT    BUNKER    HILL      .  .  .  -79 

THE    BATTLE    OF    BUNKER    HILL       .......       85 

GENERAL    WILLIAM    HOWE         ........       87 

From  an  engra-ving  after  the  portrait  by  Dodd,  May  13,  1786. 

JOSEPH    WARREN,    KILLED    AT    BUNKER    HILL  .  .  .  .89 

From  a  portrait  fainted  by  Copley  in  1774. 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS  xi 

PAGE 

A      GLIMPSE      OF     BUNKER      HILL      MONUMENT  .  FROM      COPp's     HILL 

CEMETERY 92 

WASHINGTON    TAKING    COMMAND    OF    THE    ARMY     .  .  .  -99 

VICINITY  OF  THE  WASHINGTON  ELM,  CAMBRIDGE,  AT  THE  PRES 
ENT  TIME  .........  101 

A    PROCLAMATION    BY    KING    GEORGE    III.,  AUGUST,    1775  •  •     IO5 

Reproduced  from    one    of   the  original    broadsides  in    Dr.  Emmet' 's  collection   now   in   the  Lenox 
Library. 

CAPE    DIAMOND    AND    THE    CITADEL,    QUEBEC 107 

TABLET  ON  THE  ROCKS  OF  CAPE  DIAMOND  BEARING  THE  IN 
SCRIPTION  "MONTGOMERY  FELL,  DEC'R  31,  1775"  .  .  108 

THE      MONUMENT      TO     MONTGOMERY,     ST.     PAUL'S     CHURCH,     NEW 

YORK    CITY 109 

Erected  by  the  order  of  Congress,  January  25,  2776. 

THE    ATTACK    ON    QUEBEC       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .Ill 

THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  FALMOUTH,  NOW  THE  CITY  OF  PORT 
LAND,  ME. 119 

In  Ocfober,  1775,  by  a  fleet  under  Captain  Mowatt. 

GENERAL    WILLIAM    MOULTRIE 127 

From  the  painting  by  John   Trnmbull,  1791. 

OLD  ST.  MICHAEL'S  CHURCH,  CHARLESTON,  s.  c.          .         .         .   128 

THE    DEFENCE    OF    FORT    SULLIVAN,    JUNE    28,     1776  .  .  .     13! 

FORT    MOULTRIE,    AT    THE    PRESENT    DAY          .....     133 

WASHINGTON  SHOWING  THE  CAMP  AT  CAMBRIDGE  TO  THE  COM 
MITTEE,  CONSISTING  OF  FRANKLIN,  LYNCH,  AND  HARRISON, 
APPOINTED  BY  CONGRESS 147 

INDEPENDENCE    HALL,  PHILADELPHIA,  CHESTNUT    STREET    FRONT        150 

THOMAS    PAINE 155 

From  painting  by  C.  IV.  Peale,  1783. 

ROGER    SHERMAN 157 

From  the  painting  by  Ralph  Earle,  1787. 

ROBERT    MORRIS     ..........     159 

From  a  painting  by  Edward  Savage,  171)0. 

THOMAS    JEFFERSON          .........     l6l 

From  the  painting  by  Charles  Willson  Peale,  171)1. 

VIEW    OF    INDEPENDENCE    HALL    FROM    THE    PARK    SIDE  .  .     163 


xii  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

STAIRWAY    IN    INDEPENDENCE    HALL        ......     164 

FAC-SLMILE  OF  A  PART  OF  THE  ROUGH  DRAFT  OF  THE  DECLAR 
ATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  .  .  .  .  .  .  .165 

From  an  artotype  by  K.  Bierstadt  -of  the  original  in  the  Department  of  State,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 

ROOM     IN      INDEPENDENCE      HALL     IN     WHICH      THE      DECLARATION 

WAS    SIGNED 167 

READING  THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  TO  THE  TROOPS 
IN  NEW  YORK,  ASSEMBLED  ON  THE  COMMON,  NOW  CITY 
HALL  PARK,  OLD  ST.  PAUL'S  IN  THE  BACKGROUND  .  .169 

FROM    THE    RESOLUTIONS    ADOPTED    BY    CONGRESS,    JULY    5,     1776    .     171 

Fac-si»iile  of  a  part   of   the    original   draft    belonging   to   the   Emmet    collection     in    the    Lenox 
Library. 

TEARING  DOWN  THE  LEADEN  STATUE  OF  GEORGE  III.,  ON  BOWL 
ING  GREEN,  NEW  YORK,  TO  CELEBRATE  THE  SIGNING  OF 
THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  .  .  .  .173 

THOMAS  JEFFERSON  WRITING  THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPEND 
ENCE  .  *.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .177 

GENERAL    NATHANIEL    GREENE        .  .  .  .  .  .  .187 

From  the  painting  by  Charles  U'illson  Peale,  1783. 

PART     OF     TABLET      MARKING      THE      LINE      OF      DEFENCE     AT     THE 

BATTLE    OF    LONG    ISLAND    .  .  .  .  .  .  .189 

Placed  in  Brooklyn  by  the  Sons  of  the  Revolution. 

GENERAL    ISRAEL    PUTNAM      ........     190 

From  a  portrait  by  If.  I.   Thompson,  after  a  pencil-sketch  from  life  by  'John   Trnmbull. 

BATTLE    PASS,    PROSPECT    PARK,    BROOKLYN     .  .  .  .191 

PRESENT    VIEW     FROM     OLD     FORT     PUTNAM    (NOW     FORT     GREENE), 

BROOKLYN  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .192 

THE    RETREAT    FROM    LONG    ISLAND 193 

THE    JUMEL    MANSION,    WASHINGTON    HEIGHTS,    NEW    YORK    CITY     .     197 

SITE    OF    FORT    WASHINGTON,    NEW    YORK    CITY,    LOOKING    TOWARD 

FORT    LEE 199 

THE  RETREAT  THROUGH  THE  JERSEYS          .....    203 

WASHINGTON'S   TROOPS   DISEMBARKING  ON  THE   TRENTON   SHORE 

OF  THE  DELAWARE  RIVER          ......    209 

THE    POINT    AT    WHICH    WASHINGTON    CROSSED    THE    DELAWARE 

RIVER  ,     211 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  xiii 

PAGE 

THE    SURPRISE    AT    TRENTON 213 

OLD  KING  STREET  (NOW  WARREN  STREET),  TRENTON           .         .  21 5 

A  "CALL  TO  ARMS"    .........  216 

Reproduced,  for  the  first  time,  in  fac-simile  (reduced)  from  the  original  document. 

QUAKER    MEETING-HOUSE,    NEAR    PRINCETON              .             .             .             .  2l8 

THE    BATTLE    OF    PRINCETON             .......  219 

STONY    BROOK    BRIDGE,    NEAR    PRINCETON 221 

HOUSE    AND    ROOM    IN    WHICH    GENERAL    MERCER    DIED                .             .  222 

NASSAU    HALL,    PRINCETON,    ERECTED    1756 224 

GENERAL    PHILIP    SCHUYLER                .......  232 

From  the  painting  by  Trumbull  (171)2)  in  the  Yale  College  Art  Gallery. 

RUINS    OF    OLD     FORT    FREDERICK,    CROWN    POINT AT    THE    PRES 
ENT    TIME                .........  233 

THE     HOME    OF    GENERAL    PHILIP    SCHUYLER     AT     OLD     SARATOGA, 

NEAR    SCHUYLERVILLE 234 

GENERAL    JOHN    BURGOYNE    ........  235 

From  an  engraving  (after  the  painting  by  Gardner)  published  in  1784. 

THE    RAVINE    AT    ORISKANY,    NEW    YORK 236 

BATTLE    OF    ORISKANY 237 

GENERAL     HERKIMER's     HOUSE    AT    DANUBE,    NEAR    LITTLE    FALLS, 

NEW    YORK              .........  239 

OLD    STONE    CHURCH     AT    GERMAN    FLATS    IN    THE    MOHAWK    VAL 
LEY      240 

CASTLE    CHURCH,    NEAR    DANUBE,    IN    THE    MOHAWK    VALLEY              .  241 

GENERAL    JOHN    STARK               ........  242 

From  ct  painting  (after  Trumbull)  by  U.  D.  Tenney,  at  the  State  Capitol  at  Concord,  N.  If. 

THE    BATTLE    OF    BENNINGTON         .......  245 

CATAMOUNT    TAVERN,    BENNINGTON,  VT.,  THE    HEAD-QUARTERS  OF 

GENERAL    STARK    AND    THE    COUNCIL    OF    SAFETY            .             .  247 

Draiunfrom  an  old  photograph. 

MONUMENT    AVENUE,    BENNINGTON,    AT    THE    PRESENT    TIME               .  247 

GENERAL    HORATIO    GATES     ........  249 

From  the  hitherto  unpublished  portrait  painted  by  R.  E.  Pine,  1785. 


xiv  LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

OLD      BATTLE      WELL      ON      FREEMAN'S      FARM.     AT      THE      PRESENT 

TIME 251 

CELLAR  AT  THE  PRESENT  TIME  IN  THE  MARSHALL  HOUSE, 
SCHUYLERVILLE,  WHICH  WAS  USED  AS  A  HOSPITAL  FOR 
THE  BRITISH  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .252 

THE    BURIAL    OF    GENERAL    FRASER  ....  .  253 

SURRENDER     OF     BURGOYNE FAC-SIMILE    (REDUCED)     OF  A     PART 

OF    THE    ORIGINAL    ARTICLES    OF    CAPITULATION  .  .     257 

Reproduced,  by  permission,  from  the  original  document  in  the  collection  of  the  New  York  Histori 
cal  Society. 

SURRENDER    OF    BURGOYNE    ........     259 

BENJAMIN    FRANKLIN 273 

From  the  painting  by  Dnplessis,  1778,  in  the  Pennsylvania  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia. 

WASHINGTON'S    HEAD-QUARTERS,    NEAR    CHAD'S    FORD,    AT    THE 

TIME  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BRANDYWINE    .      .      .  283 

LAFAYETTE'S  HEAD-QUARTERS,  NEAR  CHAD'S  FOR.T?,  DURING  THE 

BATTLE  OF  THE  BRANDYWINE   ......   284 

BATTLE    OF    THE    BRANDYWINE 285 

BIRMINGHAM    MEETING-HOUSE,    NEAR    CHAD'S    FORD  .  .  .     287 

BARON      KNYPHAUSEN,     COMMANDER     OF     THE     HESSIANS     IN     THE 

WAR    BETWEEN    ENGLAND    AND    THE    UNITED    STATES  .  .     289 

From  a  drawing,  the  original  of  -which  is  in  the  possession  of  the  Knyphausen  family. 

THE    CHEW    HOUSE,    GERMANTOWN 292 

THE    ATTACK    UPON    THE    CHEW    HOUSE 293 

THE    REPULSE    OF    THE    HESSIANS    UNDER    COUNT    DONOP    AT    FORT 

MERCER 297 

LAFAYETTE 300 

From  a  portrait  painted  by  C.  IV.  Peale  in  1780  for  Washington. 

THE  OLD  POTTS  HOUSE  AT  VALLEY  FORGE,  USED  BY  WASHING 
TON  AS  HEAD-QUARTERS  .......  301 

VIEW    FROM    FORT    HUNTINGTON,  WITH  A   PLAN  OF  THE    INTRENCH- 

MENTS    REMAINING    AT    VALLEY    FORGE  ....     303 

THE    OATH    OF    ALLEGIANCE    TO    THE    UNITED    STATES,  SIGNED    BY 

BENEDICT    ARNOLD    AT    VALLEY    FORGE,     1778         .  .  .    304 

OLD    BELL    USED    IN    THE    CAMP    AT    VALLEY    FORGE  .  .  .     305 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS  xv 

PAGE 

WINTER    AT    VALLEY    FORGE    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .307 

HOUSE  IN  ARCH  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  WHERE  BETSY  ROSS 
MADE  THE  FIRST  AMERICAN  FLAG  FROM  THE  DESIGN 
ADOPTED  BY  CONGRESS  .  .  .  .  .  .  .312 

BARON    STEUBEN  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  -315 

Painted  by  C.   W.  Peale,  in  1780. 


BATTLE    OF    MONMOUTH 


32I 


COLONEL    DANIEL    BOONE          ........     334 

From  a  portrait  by  Chester  Harding. 

GENERAL  GEORGE  ROGERS  CLARK      .      .     .     .     .      -335 

From  an  original  miniature  ascribed  to  J.  W,  Jar-vis. 

CLARK  ON  THE  WAY  TO  KASKASKIA       .          .          .          .          .          -341 

CLARK'S  SURPRISE  AT  KASKASKIA  ......   344 

CLARK'S  ADVANCE  AGAINST  VINCENNES  ......   349 

GENERAL    BENJAMIN    LINCOLN 356 

From  a  portrait  painted  by  C.   ll\  Peale,  in  1784. 

COUNT    PULASKI 358 

Front  an  engraving  by  Ant.  Oleszczynski. 

ATTACK  ON  SAVANNAH,  OCTOBER  8, 1779.      .      .      .      -359 

PART  OF  THE  ARTICLES  OF  CAPITULATION  AGREED  ON  AT  THE 

SURRENDER  OF  FORT  MOULTRIE      .....  363 

Reproduced  in  fac-simile  front  the  original  in  the  Emmet  collection,  Lenox  Library. 

THE    FIRST    AND    LAST     PARTS     OF    SIR    HENRY    CLINTON'S     OFFER     OF 

PARDON    TO    REBELS    IN     1780         .  .  •    .  .  .     365 

From  the  original  document  belonging  to  the  Emmet  collection  in  the  Lenox  Library. 

FAC-SIMILE  (REDUCED)  OF  THE  FIRST  AND  LAST  PARTS  OF  PATRICK 
HENRY'S  LETTER  OF  INSTRUCTIONS  TO  GEORGE  ROGERS 
CLARK  ..........  368 

From  "  The  Conquest  of  the  North-west,"   by  William  E.  English. 

A    BRITISH    WAGON-TRAIN    SURPRISED    BY    MARION      .  .  .  .     370 

GENERAL    ANDREW    PICKENS  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  -371 

From  a  copy  by  John  Stolle  of  the  original  painting  by  Thomas  Sully. 


xvi  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

THE    BATTLE    OF    KING'S    MOUNTAIN .587 

THE   BAYONET  CHARGE  BY  THE  SECOND  MARYLAND  BRIGADE  AT 

THE  BATTLE  OF  CAMDEN   ......  392 

THE    MEETING    OF    GREENE    AND    GATES    AT    CHARLOTTE,   N.   C., 

UPON  THE  FORMER'S  ASSUMING  COMMAND          .         .         .    397 

THE  COMBAT  BETWEEN  COLONELS  WASHINGTON  AND  TARLETON 

AT  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  COWPENS  .....  403 

A  LETTER  OF  TARLETON 407 

In  the  Dreer  collection,  Pennsylvania  Historical  Society. 

GENERAL    DANIEL    MORGAN    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     411 

From  the  portrait  by  Charles  IVillson  Peale,  1794. 

THE    FIELD    OF    GREENE'S    OPERATIONS    IN    THE    SOUTH  .  .  .  413 

THE    BATTLE    OF    GUILFORD    COURT    HOUSE     .....  421 

THE    BATTLE    OF    HOBKIRK's    HILL 429 

THE    BATTLE    OF    EUTAW    SPRINGS  ......  437 

THE    EVACUATION    OF    CHARLESTON    BY     THE     BRITISH,    DECEMBER 

14,     I782      • 443 

ANTHONY    WAYNE  .........     457 

front  an  unpublished  portrait  by  Henry  Eloniz,  l"/gs. 

STONY    POINT 458 

THE    CAPTURE    OF    STONY    POINT    BY    WAYNE  .  .  .461 

MAJOR    HENRY    LEE    ("  LIGHT    HORSE    HARRY  ")  .  .  .     463 

From  a  paint  itig  by  C.  IV.  Peale  in  1788. 

THE  CAPTURE  OF  PAULUS  HOOK  BY  MAJOR  LEE       .     .      .  465 
GENERAL  BENEDICT  ARNOLD  IN  1778       .....  474 

After  the  drawing  by  P.  Du  Simitiere. 

THE    HUDSON    RIVER    AT    WEST    POINT 478 

OLD      FORT      PUTNAM THE     KEY     TO     THE     DEFENCES     AT     WEST 

POINT SHOWING    THE    MAGAZINES      .....     480 

HEAD-QUARTERS      AT      TAPPAN      FROM      WHICH      THE      ORDER      FOR 

ANDRE'S  EXECUTION  WAS  ISSUED       .         .         .         .         .481 
THE  HOUSE  IN  WHICH  ANDR6  WAS  IMPRISONED  ....    483 

ARNOLD    TELLS    HIS    WIFE    OF    THE    DISCOVERY    OF    HIS    TREASON      .     485 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS  xvii 

PAGE 

LETTER  FROM  GENERAL  WASHINGTON  TO  COLONEL  WADE,  APPRIS 
ING  HIM  OF  ARNOLD'S  TREASON 488 

Reproduced  in  fac~simile  for   the  first   time  from   the  original   in   the  possession  of  Francis  H. 
Wade  i  Esq.)  of  ips'wichj  Jlfass.,  a  grandson  of  Colonel  Wade* 

PART  OF  THE  GREAT  CHAIN  (NOW  IN  THE  COLLECTION  OF  RELICS 
AT  WEST  POINT)  WHICH  WAS  STRETCHED  ACROSS  THE 
HUDSON  BETWEEN  WEST  POINT  AND  CONSTITUTION  ISLAND 
TO  OBSTRUCT  NAVIGATION  ......  489 

CHARLES,    EARL    CORNWALLIS  .......     497 

After  an  engraving-  by  F.  H  award,  published  in  1784. 

IN  CARTER'S  GROVE,  AN   OLD  ( 

JAMES  RIVER      .........    503 

THE    HOME    OF    THE    PRESIDENT    OF    WILLIAM    AND    MARY    COLLEGE 

AT    WILLIAMSBURG,    VA.         .......     504 

COMTE    DE    ROCHAMBEAU 507 

From  a  portrait  by  C.  IV.  Peale,  1781. 

YORK  RIVER,  SEEN  FROM  THE  INNER  BRITISH  WORKS,  AND  LOOK 
ING  TOWARD  GLOUCESTER  POINT  .  .  .  .  .  510 

PRESENT  APPEARANCE  OF  THE  BRITISH  INTRENCHMENT  AT 
YORKTOWN,  WITH  A  MAP  SHOWING  THE  POSITION  OF  THE 
FRENCH  AND  AMERICAN  TROOPS  .  .  .  .  .  512 

THE  HOME  OF  CHANCELLOR  WYTHE  AT  WILLIAMSBURG,  WHERE 
WASHINGTON  STOPPED  ON  HIS  WAY  TO  THE  SIEGE  OF 
YORKTOWN 515 

WASHINGTON  FIRING  THE  FIRST  GUN  AT  THE  SIEGE  OF  YORK- 
TOWN  .  .  " 5!  7 

THE    HOUSE    OF    GOVERNOR    NELSON    AT    YORKTOWN          .  .  .     520 

THE    MOORE    HOUSE,  IN   WHICH    THE    CAPITULATION    WAS    SIGNED  .     521 
THE    SIEGE    OF    YORKTOWN     ........     523 

YORKTOWN,    1833,    FROM    THE    FIELD    OF    ITS    SURRENDER    BY    LORD 

CORNWALLIS          .........     525 

THE    PRINCIPAL    STREET    IN    YORKTOWN 527 

CHARLES    JAMES    FOX       .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .     53! 

From  mezzotint  by  John  Gilbank,  1806. 

LORD    SHELBURNE  .  ,  53! 

From  an  engraving  by  Bartolozzi  after  Gainsborough,  1787- 


xviii  LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


CHARLES  GRAVIER  COMTE  DE  VERGENNES     .      .,     .      .      -534 

BENJAMIN     FRANKLIN     AND     RICHARD     OSWALD     DISCUSSING     THE  * 

TREATY  OF  PEACE  AT  PARIS         .          .          .          .          .          -537 

WASHINGTON'S  FAREWELL  TO  HIS  OFFICERS     .....   547 

THE     HOME     OF     GEORGE     WASHINGTON     AT     MOUNT     VERNON,      WITH 

THE    INTERIOR    OF    HIS    ROOM  .  .  .  .  .  *•     5  5 1 

ALEXANDER    HAMILTON    .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  -569 

From  the  painting  by  yohn   Trumbull,  1792. 


MAPS 

PLAN    OF    THE    BATTLE    OF    BUNKER     HILL               .             .  .  .                     72 

After   the    map   made  frotp   the  surveys  of  the   British    Captain   Montresor  by  Lieutenant  Page, 
aide-de-camp  to  General  Hoiue. 

THE    BATTLE    OF    LONG    ISLAND             .             .              .             .  .  .             .     1 86 

From  a  British  map  of  1776. 

MAP    OF    THE    SCENE    OF    THE    BURGOYNE    CAMPAIGN  .  .  .             -231 

MAP    SHOWING    THE    SCENE    OF    OPERATIONS    PRECEDING    THE  BATTLE 

OF    MONMOUTH      .            .            ,            .            .            „  .  .            .    317 


THE  STORY  OF  THE 
REVOLUTION 


THE    STORY    OF    THE 
REVOLUTION 


CHAPTER    I 

THE     FIRST     STEP 

IN  1774  Philadelphia  was  the  largest  town  in  the  Amer-» 
ican  Colonies.  Estimates  of  the  population,  which  are 
all  we  have,  differ  widely,  but  it  was  probably  not  far 
from  30,000.  A  single  city  now  has  a  larger  population 
than  all  the  colonies  possessed  in  1774,  and  there  are  in  the 
United  States  to-day  104  cities  and  towns  of  over  30,000 
inhabitants.  Figures  alone,  however,  cannot  express  the 
difference  between  those  days  and  our  own.  Now  a  town 
of  30,000  people  is  reached  by  railroads  and  telegraphs.  It 
is  in  close  touch  with  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  Business 
brings  strangers  to  it  constantly,  who  come  like  shadows 
and  so  depart,  unnoticed,  except  by  those  with  whom  they 
are  immediately  concerned.  This  was  not  the  case  in  1 774, 
not  even  in  Philadelphia,  which  was  as  nearly  as  possible 
the  central  point  of  the  colonies  as  well  as  the  most  popu 
lous  city.  Thanks  to  the  energy  and  genius  of  Franklin, 
Philadelphia  was  paved,  lighted,  and  ordered  in  a  way  al 
most  unknown  in  any  other  town  of  that  period.  It  was 


2  THE   STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

well  built  and  thriving.  Business  was  aetive  and  the  peo 
ple,  who  were  thrifty  and  prosperous,  lived  well.  Yet,  de 
spite  all  these  good  qualities,  we  must  make  an  effort  of  the 
imagination  to  realize  how  quietly  and  slowly  life  moved 
then  in  comparison  to  the  pace  of  to-day.  There  in  Phil 
adelphia  was  the  centre  of  the  postal  system  of  the  conti 
nent,  and  the  recently  established  mail-coach  called  the 
44  Flying  Machine,"  not  in  jest  but  in  praise,  performed  the 
journey  to  New  York  in  the  hitherto  unequalled  time  of 
two  days.  Another  mail  at  longer  intervals  crept  more 
slowly  to  the  South.  Vessels  of  the  coastwise  traffic,  or 
from  beyond  seas,  came  into  port  at  uncertain  times,  and 
after  long  and  still  more  uncertain  voyages.  The  daily 
round  of  life  was  so  regular  and  so  uneventful  that  any  in 
cident  or  any  novelty  drew  interest  and  attention  in  a  way 
which  would  now  be  impossible. 

In  this  thriving,  well-conditioned,  prosperous  colonial 
town,  strangers,  like  events,  were  not  common,  and  their  ap 
pearance  was  sure  to  attract  notice,  especially  if  they  gave 
evidence  of  distinction  or  were  known  to  come  with  an 
important  purpose.  We  can  guess  easily,  therefore,  at  the 
interest  which  was  felt  by  the  people  of  Philadelphia  in  the 
strangers  from  other  colonies  who  began  to  appear  on  their 
streets  in  the  late  summer  of  1/74,  although  these  visitors 
were  neither  unexpected  nor  uninvited.  They  were  re 
ceived,  too,  with  the  utmost  kindness  and  with  open  arms. 
We  can  read  in  the  diary  of  John  Adams  how  he  and  his 
companions  from  Massachusetts  were  feted  and  dined,  and 
we  can  learn  from  the  same  authority  how  generous  were 
the  tables  and  how  much  richer  was  the  living  among  the 
followers  of  William  Penn  than  among  the  descendants  of 
the  Puritans. 


THE  FIRST  STEP  3 

But  these  men  from  Massachusetts  and  from  the  other 
colonies  had  not  travelled  over  rough  roads  and  long  dis- 


CARPENTERS'  HALL,    PHILADELPHIA. 

tances  simply  to  try  the  liberal  hospitality  of  the  Quakers 
of  Philadelphia.  They  had  come  there  on  far  more  serious 
business  and  with  a  grave  responsibility  resting  upon  them. 


THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


JOHN  JA  Y. 

'-e  earliest  kno'wti  portrait  of  hi; 
graved,  -in  1783,  from  a  pencil  dr 
by  Dn  Siinititre,  wade  in  1779. 


n'nj? 


On  September  5th  they  assem 
bled  at  the  City  Tavern,  and  went 
thence  together  to  the  hall  of  the 
Carpenters,  where  they  deter 
mined  to  hold  their  meetings. 
We  can  readily  imagine  how  the 
little  town  was  stirred  and  inter 
ested  as  these  men  passed  along 
its  streets  that  September  morn 
ing  from  the  tavern  to  the  hall. 
The  bystanders  who  were  watch 
ing  them  as  they  walked  by  were 
trying,  no  doubt,  after  the  fash 
ion  of  human  nature,  to  pick  out  and  identify  those  whose 
names  were  already  familiar.  We  may  be  sure  that  they 
noticed  Christopher  Gadsden  and  the  two  Rutledges  from 
South  Carolina ;  they  must  have  marked  John  Jay's  calm, 
high-bred  face,  and  the  vener- 

o 

able  figure  of  Hopkins  of 
Rhode  Island,  while  Roger 
Sherman  of  Connecticut,  tall, 
grave,  impressive,  with  his 
strong,  handsome  features, 
could  have  been  readily  identi 
fied.  They  certainly  looked 
with  especial  eagerness  for  the 
Massachusetts  delegates,  their 
curiosity,  we  may  believe,  min 
gled  with  something  of  the 
suspicion  and  dread  which 
these  particular  men  then  in-  JOHN  ADAMS 

spired  in  slow-moving,  conserv-  From « /«»«^  ^  siyth,  ,76S 


SAMUEL  ADAMS. 
Engraved  from  the  portrait  painted  by  Copley  in  ///j.    Noiu  in  possession  of  the  Boston  Museum  of  Fine  Arts. 


THE  FIRST  STEP  7 

ative  Pennsylvania.  When  the  Boston  men  came  along, 
there  must  have  been  plenty  of  people  to  point  out  a  short, 
sturdy,  full-blooded  man,  clearly  of  a  restless,  impetuous, 
and  ardent  temperament,  and  to  tell  each  other  that  there 
was  John  Adams,  the  distinguished  lawyer  and  brilliant 
debater,  whose  fame  in  the  last  few  years  had  spread  far 
from  his  native  town.  With  him  was  to  be  seen  an  older 
man,  one  still  better  known,  and  regarded  as  still  more 
dangerous,  whose  fame  had  gone  even  across  the  water  to 

o  o 

England,  Samuel  Adams  of  Boston.  He  was  taller  than 
his  cousin,  with  a  somewhat  stern,  set  face  of  the  Puritan 
type.  He  was  plainly  dressed,  very  likely  in  dark-brown 
cloth,  as  Copley  painted  him,  and  yet  his  friends  had 
almost  by  force  fitted  him  out  with  clothes  suitable  for  this 
occasion,  simple  as  they  were,  for  if  left  to  himself  he 
would  have  come  as  carelessly  and  roughly  clad  as  was 
his  habit  at  home.  A  man  not  much  given  to  speech,  an 
organizer,  a  manager  and  master  of  men,  relentless  in  pur 
pose,  a  planner  of  revolution,  with  schemes  and  outlooks 
far  beyond  most  of  those  about  him.  Yes,  on  the  whole, 
here  was  a  man  dangerous  to  people  in  high  places  whom 
he  meant  to  disturb  or  oppose. 

And  after  the  bystanders  had  watched  curiously  the 
New7  England  group,  they  looked  next  for  those  who  came 
from  the  great  colony  of  Virginia,  which,  with  Massachu 
setts,  was  to  sway  the  Congress  and  carry  it  forward  to 
stronger  measures  than  the  other  colonies  then  desired. 
Conspicuous  among  the  Virginians  they  saw  an  eminent 
member  of  the  Randolph  family,  and  those  who  were  well 
informed  no  doubt  wondered  why  they  did  not  see  by  Ran 
dolph's  side  the  slight  figure  and  keen  face  of  Richard 
Henry  Lee,  a  fit  representative  of  the  great  Virginian 


THE  STORY  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


name,  who  had  come  to  Phila 
delphia,  but  did  not  appear  in 
Congress  until  the  second  day. 
All  these  Virginian  delegates, 
indeed,  were  well  known,  by 
reputation  at  least,  and  there 
could  have  been  no  difficulty 
in  singling  out  among  them 
the  man  whose  fiery  eloquence 
had  brought  the  cry  of  "  Trea 
son  "  ringing  about  his  ears  in 
the  House  of  Burgesses.  The 

PEYTON  RANDOLPH,   OF   VIRGINIA,  r      ^          •     i         TT 

THE  FIRST  PRESIDENT  OF  THE  name  of    Patrick    Henry  had 

been  sent  across  the  water,  like 

From  a  fainting  by  C.   IIS.  Peale,  1774. 

that  of  Samuel  Adams,  and  we 

may  be  sure  that  the  crowd  was  looking  with  intense  curi 
osity  for  a  sight  of  the  already  famous  orator.  When 
they  found  him  they  saw  a  tall,  spare  man,  nearly  forty  years 
of  age,  with  a  slight  stoop  of 
the  shoulders,  a  strong,  well- 
cut  face,  and  keen,  penetrating 
eyes  deeply  set  beneath  a  broad 
high  forehead  on  which  the 
furrows  of  thought  had  already 
come.  They  must  have  noted, 
too,  that  he  was  negligently 
dressed,  and  that  he  had  a  very 
grave,  almost  severe,  look,  un 
til  a  smile  came,  which  light 
ed  up  his  face  and  showed  all 
the  kindliness  and  sympathy  RICHARD  HENRY  LEE,  OF  VIR- 

f  .  GINIA . 

of  an  emotional  nature.  Painting  by  c.  ,,,  Mi  ,„,. 


THE  FIRST  STEP  9 

The  names  of  Henry  and  of  Adams  were  more  familiar 
just  at  that  moment  than  those  of  any  others.  They  were 
the  men  who  by  speech  and  pen  had  done  more  than 
anyone  else  to  touch  the  heart  and  imagination  of  the 
people  in  the  progress  of  those  events  which  had  caused 


GEORGE    WASHINGTON  AT  THE  AGE   OF  FORTY. 

Painted  by  Charles  IVillson  Peale,  1772.     This  picture  shon-s  Washington  in  the  uniform  of  a  Virginian 

Colonel. 

this  gathering  in  Philadelphia.  Yet  there  was  one  man 
there  that  day  who  had  made  no  speeches  and  drawn  no 
resolutions,  but  who,  nevertheless,  was  better  known  than 
any  of  them,  and  who,  alone,  among  them  all,  had  a 
soldier's  fame  won  on  hard-fought  fields.  There  was  not 
much  need  to  point  him  out,  for  he  was  the  type  of  man 
that  commands  attention  and  does  not  need  identification. 


io  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

Very  tall  and  large,  admirably  proportioned,  with  every 
sign  of  great  physieal  strength  ;  a  fine  head  and  face  of 
power,  with  a  strong  jaw  and  a  mouth  accurately  closed  ; 
calm  and  silent  with  a  dignity  which  impressed  every 
one  who  ever  entered  his  presence,  there  was  no  need 
to  tell  the  onlookers  that  here  was  Colonel  Washing 
ton.  What  he  had  done  they  knew.  What  he  was  yet 
to  do  no  one  dreamed,  but  such  was  the  impression 
he  made  upon  all  who  came  near  him  that  we  may  easily 
believe  that  the  people  who  gazed  at  him  in  the  streets 
felt  dumbly  what  Patrick  Henry  said  for  those  who 
met  him  in  the  Congress  :  "  Washington  is  unquestion 
ably  the  greatest  of  them  all."  Thus  he  came  to  the 
opening  scene  of  the  Revolution  as  he  went  back  to 
Mount  Vernon  at  the  war's  close,  quietly  and  silently,  the 
great  figure  of  the  time,  the  doer  of  deeds  to  whom  Con 
gress  and  people-  turned  as  by  instinct.  On  the  way  to 
Philadelphia,  Pendleton  and  Henry  had  joined  him  at 
Mount  Vernon  and  passed  the  night  there,  hospitably  re 
ceived  in  the  Virginian  fashion  both  by  their  host  and  by 
Mrs.  Washington,  who  was  a  woman  of  pronounced  views 
and  had  the  full  courage  of  her  convictions.  To  Pendle 
ton  and  Henry  she  said  :  "  I  hope  you  will  all  stand  firm. 
I  know  George  will."  It  is  a  delightful  speech  to  have 
been  spared  to  us  through  the  century,  with  its  knowledge 
of  her  husband's  character  and  its  touch  of  wifely  com 
mand.  Only  a  few  years  before,  a  mother  across  the  water 
had  been  saying  to  her  son,  "  George,  be  a  king,"  and  the 
worthy,  stubborn  man  with  his  limited  intelligence  was 
trying  now  to  obey  that  mother  in  his  own  blundering 
fashion.  How  far  apart  they  seem,  the  German  Princess 
and  the  Virginian  lady,  with  their  commands  to  husband 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


ii 


and  to  son.  And  yet  the  great  forces  of  the  time  were 
bringing  the  two  men  steadily  together  in  a  conflict  which 
was  to  settle  the  fate  of  a  nation.  They  were  beginning 
to  draw  very  near  to  each  other  on  that  September  morn 
ing  ;  the  king  by  accident  of  birth,  and  the  king  who 
would  never  wear  a  crown,  but  who  was  appointed  to  lead 


THE     ASSEMBLY    ROOM,   CARPENTERS'   HALL,    WHERE    THE     CONTINENTAL 
CONGRESS  EIRST  MET. 

men  by  the  divine  right  of  the  greatness  of  mind  and  will 
which  was  in  him. 

George  Washington,  ascending  the  steps  of  Carpen 
ters'  Hall,  knew  all  about  the  other  George,  and  had  been 
proud  to  call  himself  the  loyal  subject  of  his  namesake. 
The  British  George,  with  no  English  blood  in  his  veins, 
except  the  little  drop  which  came  to  him  from  the  poor 
Winter  Queen,  had  probably  never  heard  even  the  name 
of  the  American  soldier,  although  he  was  destined  to  learn 


12  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

a  great  deal  about  him  in  the  next  few  years.  Yet  Wash 
ington  was  much  the  best-known  man  in  America,  with 
the  single  exception  of  Franklin,  whose  scientific  work 
and  whose  missions  to  England  had  given  him  a  European 
reputation.  Washington  had  commanded  the  troops  in 
that  little  action  in  the  wilderness  when  the  first  shot  of 
the  Seven  Years'  War  was  fired,  a  war  in  which  Frederick 
of  Prussia  had  made  certain  famous  campaigns  and  which 
had  cost  France  her  hold  on  North  America.  Later  he 
had  saved  the  wretched  remnants  of  Braddock's  army,  his 
name  had  figured  in  gazettes,  and  had  been  embalmed  in 
Horace  Walpole's  letters.  That,  however,  was  all  twenty 
years  before,  and  was  probably  quite  forgotten  in  1774 
outside  America.  Samuel  Adams  was  known  in  England, 
as  Percy  was  known  to  the  Prince  of  Wales,  for  a  "very 
valiant  rebel  of  that  name."  Possibly  John  Adams  and 
Patrick  Henry  had  been  heard  of  in  similar  fashion.  But 
as  a  whole,  the  members  of  the  first  American  Congress 
were  unknown  outside  the  colonies,  and  many  of  them 
were  not  known  beyond  the  limits  of  the  particular  colony 
they  represented.  To  England  and  her  ministers  and 
people  these  forty  or  fifty  grave  gentlemen,  lawyers,  mer 
chants,  and  planters,  were  merely  a  body  of  obscure  col 
onial  persons  who  were  meeting  in  an  unauthorized  man 
ner  for  distinctly  treasonable  and  objectionable  purposes. 
To  the  courts  of  Europe,  engaged  at  the  moment  in 
meaningless  intrigues,  either  foreign  or  domestic,  and  all 
alike  grown  quite  dim  now,  this  Colonial  Congress  was 
not  even  obscure,  it  was  not  visible  at  all.  Yet,  thought 
fully  regarded,  it  deserved  consideration  much  better 
than  anything  which  just  then  engaged  the  attention  of 
Europe.  Fifteen  years  later  its  utterances  were  to  be 


THE  FIRST  STEP  13 

quoted  as  authority,  and  its  example  emulated  in  Paris 
when  an  ancient  monarchy  was  tottering  to  its  fall.  It 
was  the  start  of  a  great  movement  which  was  to  sweep  on 
until  checked  at  Waterloo.  This  same  movement  was  to 
begin  its  march  again  in  1830  in^the  streets  of  Paris  and 
carry  the  reform  of  the  British  Parliament  two  years  later. 
It  was  to  break  forth  once  more  in  1848  and  keep  steadily 
on  advancing  and  conquering,  although  its  work  is  still 
incomplete  even  among  the  nations  of  Western  civiliza 
tion.  Yet,  no  one  in  Europe  heeded  it  at  the  moment, 
and  they  failed  to  see  that  it  meant  not  simply  a  colonial 
quarrel,  not  merely  the  coming  of  a  new  nation,  but  the 
rising  of  the  people  to  take  their  share  in  the  governments 
of  the  earth.  It  was  in  fact  the  first  step  in  the  great 
democratic  movement  which  has  made  history  ever  since. 
The  columns  were  even  then  beginning  to  move,  and  the 
beat  of  the  drums  could  be  heard  faintly  in  the  quiet  Phil 
adelphia  streets.  They  were  still  distant,  but  they  were 
ever  drawing  nearer,  and  their  roll  went  on  rising  louder 
and  louder,  until  at  last  they  sounded  in  the  ears  of  men 
from  Concord  Bridge  to  Moscow. 

Why  did  this  come  about  ?  Why  was  it  that  the  first 
step  in  a  world  Revolution  destined  to  wrest  her  colo 
nies  from  England,  bring  a  reign  of  terror  to  France,  and 
make  over  the  map  of  Europe  before  it  passed  away,  was 
taken  in  the  peaceful  town  of  Philadelphia  ?  There  was 
nothing  inevitable  about  the  American  Revolution,  con 
sidered  by  itself.  The  colonies  were  very  loyal,  very 
proud  to  be  a  part  of  the  great  British  Empire.  If  the 
second-rate  men  who  governed  England  at  that  time  had 
held  to  the  maxim  of  their  great  predecessor,  Sir  Robert 
Walpole,  quieta  non  movere,  and  like  him  had  let  the  col- 


14  THE   STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

onies  carefully  alone  ;  or  if  they  had  been  ruled  by  the 
genius  of  Pitt  and  had  called  upon  the  colonies  as  part  of 
the  empire  to  share  in  its  glories  and  add  to  its  greatness, 
there  would  have  been  no  American  Revolution.  But  they 
insisted  on  meddling,  and  so  the  trouble  began  with  the 
abandonment  of  Walpole's  policy.  They  added  to  this 
blunder  by  abusing  and  sneering  at  the  colonists  instead  of 
appealing,  like  Pitt,  to  their  loyalty  and  patriotism.  Even 
then,  after  all  their  mistakes,  they  still  might  have  saved 
the  situation  which  they  had  themselves  created.  A  few 
concessions,  a  return  to  the  old  policies,  and  all  would 
have  been  well.  They  made  every  concession  finally,  but 
each  one  came  just  too  late,  and  so  the  colonies  were  lost 
by  sheer  stupidity  and  blundering  on  the  part  of  the  king 
and  his  ministers. 

From  this  point  of  view,  then,  there  was  nothing  inev 
itable  about  the  American  Revolution.  It  was  created  by 
a  series  of  ministerial  mistakes,  each  one  of  which  could 
have  been  easily  avoided.  From  another  point  of  view, 
however,  it  was  absolutely  inevitable,  the  inexorable  result 
of  the  great  social  and  political  forces  which  had  long 
been  gathering  and  now  were  beginning  to  move  forward. 
The  first  resistance  to  the  personal  monarchies  which  grew 
up  from  the  ruins  of  the  feudal  system  came  in  England, 
the  freest  and  best-governed  country  in  the  world  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  people  rose  and  destroyed  the 
personal  government  which  Charles  I.  tried  to  set  up,  not 
because  they  were  oppressed  and  crushed  by  tyranny,  nor 
because  they  had  grievances  too  heavy  to  be  borne,  but  be 
cause  they  were  a  free  people,  jealous  of  their  rights,  with 
the  instinct  of  liberty  strong  within  them.  In  the  same 
way  when  the  great  democratic  movement  started,  at  the 


THE  FIRST  STEP  15 

close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  it  began  in  England,  where 
there  was  no  despotic  personal  monarchy,  where  personal 
liberty  was  most  assured,  and  where  freedom  existed  in  the 
largest  measure.  The  abuses  of  aristocracy  and  monarchy 
in  England  were  as  nothing  to  what  they  were  on  the  con 
tinent.  The  subjects  of  George  III.  were  not  ground 
down  by  taxes,  were  not  sold  to  military  service,  were  not 
trampled  on  by  an  aristocracy  and  crushed  by  their  king. 
They  were  the  freest,  best-governed  people  on  earth,  faulty 
as  their  government  no  doubt  was  in  many  respects.  Yet 
it  was  among  the  English-speaking  people  that  we  detect 
the  first  signs  of  the  democratic  movement,  for,  as  they 
were  the  least  oppressed,  so  they  were  the  most  sensitive 
to  any  abuse  or  to  any  infringement  upon  the  liberties 
they  both  prized  and  understood.  The  entire  English  peo 
ple,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  were  thus  affected.  The 
Middlesex  elections,  the  career  of  \Vilkes,  the  letters  of 
Junius,  the  resolution  of  Burke  against  the  increasing 
power  of  the  Crown,  the  rising  demand  for  Parliamentary 
reform,  the  growing  hostility  to  the  corrupt  system  of  bar 
gain  and  intrigue,  by  which  the  great  families  parcelled  out 
offices  and  seats  and  controlled  Parliament,  all  pointed  in 
the  same  direction,  all  were  signs  of  an  approaching  storm. 
If  the  revolution  had  not  come  in  the  American  colonies, 
it  would  have  come  in  England  itself.  The  storm  broke 
in  the  colonies  for  the  same  reason  which  had  made  the 
English  strike  down  at  its  very  inception  the  personal  mon 
archy  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  which  forced  them 
to  be  the  first  to  exhibit  signs  of  deep  political  unrest  in 
the  last  quarter  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The  colonies 
were  the  least-governed,  the  best-governed,  and  the  freest 
part  of  the  dominion  of  Great  Britain.  A  people  who  for 


16  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

a  hundred  and  fifty  years  had  practically  governed  them 
selves,  and  who,  like  all  other  English-speaking  people, 
understood  the  value  of  their  liberties,  were  the  quickest 
to  feel  and  to  resent  any  change  which  seemed  to  signify 
a  loss  of  absolute  freedom,  and  were  sure  to  be  the  most 
jealous  of  anything  like  outside  interference.  America 
rebelled,  not  because  the  colonies  were  oppressed,  but 
because  their  inhabitants  were  the  freest  people  then  in  the 
world,  and  did  not  mean  to  suffer  oppression.  They  did 
not  enter  upon  resistance  to  England  to  redress  intolerable 
grievances,  but  because  they  saw  a  policy  adopted  which 
they  rightly  believed  threatened  the  freedom  they  possessed. 
As  Burke  said,  they  judged  "  the  pressure  of  the  grievance 
by  the  badness  of  the  principle,"  and  "  snuffed  the  approach 
of  tyranny  in  every  tainted  breeze."  They  were  the  most 
dangerous  people  in  the  world  to  meddle  with,  because 
they  were  ready  to  fight,  not  to  avenge  wrongs  which  in 
deed  they  had  not  suffered,  but  to  maintain  principles  upoji 
which  their  rights  and  liberty  rested.  The  English  min 
istry  had  begun  to  assail  those  principles  ;  they  were  mak 
ing  clumsy  and  hesitating  attempts  to  take  money  from  the 
colonies  without  leave  of  the  people  ;  and  George,  in  a  be 
lated  way,  was  trying  to  be  a  king  and  revive  an  image  of 
the  dead  and  gone  personal  monarchy  of  Charles  I.  Hence 
came  resistance,  very  acute  in  one  colony,  shared  more  or 
less  by  all.  Hence  the  Congress  in  Philadelphia  and  the 
great  popular  movement  starting  as  if  inevitably  in  that 
quiet  colonial  town  among  the  freest  portion  of  the  liberty- 
loving  English  race. 

It  was  these  great  forces  which,  moving  silently  and 
irresistibly,  had  brought  these  English  colonists  from  their 
plantations  and  offices,  and  sent  them  along  the  streets  of 


THE  FIRST  STEP 


GENERAL  JOHN  SULLIVAN. 

From  the  original  pencil-sketch  made  by  John  Trumbull,  at  Exeter,  N.  H.,  in  1790.    Now  published/or  the  first 
time,  by  the  permission  of  his  grandson,  in  -whose  possession  the  original  now  is. 

Philadelphia  to  Carpenters'  Hall.  The  deepest  causes  of 
the  movement,  stretching  far  out  among  the  nations  of  the 
West,  were  quite  unrecognized  then,  but  nevertheless  the 
men  were  there  to  carry  on  the  work,  forty-four  of  them 
in  all,  and  representing  eleven  colonies.  In  a  few  days 
North  Carolina's  delegates  appeared,  and  one  by  one  others 


i8  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

who  had  been  delayed,  until  fifty-five  members  were  present, 
and  all  the  colonies  represented  but  Georgia.  They  went 
to  work  after  the  orderly  fashion  of  their  race,  elected 
Peyton  Randolph,  of  Virginia,  President,  and  Charles 
Thomson,  a  patriotic  citizen  of  Philadelphia,  Secretary. 
Then  they  turned  to  the  practical  and  very  far-reaching 
question  of  how  they  should  vote,  whether  by  colonies  or 
by  population.  "  A  little  colony,"  said  John  Sullivan,  of 
New  Hampshire,  "  has  its  all  at  stake  as  well  as  a  great 
one."  "  Let  us  rest  on  a  representation  of  men,"  said 
Henry.  "  British  oppression  has  effaced  the  boundaries  of 
the  several  colonies  ;  the  distinctions  between  Virginians, 
Pennsylvanians,  New  Yorkers,  and  New  Englanders  are 
no  more.  I  am  not  a  Virginian,  but  an  American."  Two 
contending  principles  on  which  American  history  was  to 
turn  were  thus  announced  at  the  very  outset.  Sullivan's 
was  the  voice  of  the  time,  of  separation  and  State  rights. 
Henry's  was  the  voice  of  the  distant  future,  of  union  and 
of  nationality.  It  took  more  than  eighty  years  of  union, 
and  a  great  civil  war,  to  establish  the  new  principle  pro 
claimed  by  Henry.  At  the  moment  it  had  no  chance,  and 
the  doctrine  of  Sullivan,  in  harmony  with  every  prejudice 
as  well  as  every  habit  of  thought,  prevailed,  and  they  de 
cided  to  vote  by  colonies,  each  colony  having  one  vote. 

Then  they  appointed  committees  and  fell  to  work. 
There  was  much  debate,  much  discussion,  many  wide  dif 
ferences  of  opinion,  but  these  lovers  of  freedom  sat  with 
closed  doors,  and  the  result,  which  alone  reached  the  world, 
went  forth  with  all  the  force  of  unanimous  action.  We 
know  now  what  the  debates  and  the  differences  were,  and 
they  are  not  of  much  moment.  The  results  are  the  im 
portant  things,  as  the  Congress  wisely  thought  at  the  time. 


^*^f%«fsfs*«fst!vfjfi*?f'fe,f.    ^"fe*  ^ 

&  •^JU^^'^.^^^^^u*'*  a 


\ 


T    H    £ 

ASSOCIATION,  '&c. 


WE,  his  Majefty:s  mod  loyal  fubjecbs,  the 
Delegates    of  the    feveral   Colonies  of 
New-IIampflnre,    Maflachufett's  Bay,    Rhode- 
Ifland,  Conncdticut,    New-York,    New  Jeriey, 
.Pennfylvania,    the  Three   Lower  Counties  of 
Newcaftle,    Kent,    and  Suflex,   on    Delaware, 
Maryland,  Virginia,  North-Carolina,  and  South- 
Carolina,  deputed  to  repreient  them  in  a  conti 
nental  Congrefs,  held  in  the  chy  of  Philadel 
phia,    on  the  fifth   day   of  September,   1774, 
.  avowing  our  allegiance  to  his  Maji-fty,  our  af 
fection    and  regard  for  our   fellow-fubje&s  in 
[  .    Great-Britain  and  elfewhere,  afTcfted  with  the 


^ 
§g 


THE  foregoing  Affociation  being  determined 
upon  by  the  CONGRESS,  was  ordered  to  be  fub- 
icribed  by  the  ieveral  Members  thereof;  and 
:!;ercupon  we  have  hereunto  fee  our  reflective 
Barnes  accordingly. 

J-:  Congrefs.   Philadelphia,  Gftolcr  20,  1774. 


-M  e 


'    J^-7  I 


l|i 

c§s 


20  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

True  to  the  traditions  and  instincts  of  their  race,  they  de 
cided  to  rest  their  case  upon  historic  rather  than  natural 
rights.  They  adopted  a  Declaration  of  Rights,  an  address 
to  the  people  of  Great  Britain  drawn  by  Jay,  and  an  ad 
dress  to  the  King  by  John  Dickinson.  Both  Jay  and  Dick 
inson  were  moderate  men,  and  the  tone  of  the  addresses 
was  fair  and  conciliatory.  On  the  motion  of  the  dangerous 


JOHN  DICKINSON,   OF  PENNSYLVANIA. 

From  a  painting:  by  C.  W.  Peale,    ijqi. 

John  Adams,  they  conceded  the  right  of  the  mother- 
country  to  regulate  their  external  trade,  while  at  the  same 
time  they  firmly  denied  the  right  to  tax  them  without  their 
consent,  or  to  change  their  form  of  government.  The 
case  was  argued  with  great  force  and  ability.  It  appeared 
when  all  was  done  and  the  arguments  published  to  the  world, 
that  these  obscure  colonial  persons,  whose  names  were  un 
known  in  the  courts  of  Europe,  had  produced  some  remark 
able  state  papers.  "When  your  lordships,"  said  Chatham, 


THE  FIRST  STEP  21 

"  look  at  the  papers  transmitted  us  from  America,  when 
you  consider  their  decency,  firmness,  and  wisdom,  you  can 
not  but  respect  their  cause  and  wish  to  make  it  your  own. 
For  myself,  I  must  avow  that  in  all  my  reading — and  I 
have  read  Thucydides,  and  have  studied  and  admired  the 
master  states  of  the  world — for  solidity  of  reason,  force  of 
sagacity,  and  wisdom  of  conclusion  under  a  complication 
of  difficult  circumstances,  no  body  of  men  can  stand  in 
preference  to  the  general  Congress  at  Philadelphia.  The 
histories  of  Greece  and  Rome  give  us  nothing  equal  to  it, 
and  all  attempts  to  -impose  servitude  on  such  a  mighty 
continental  nation  must  be  in  vain.  We  shall  be  forced 
ultimately  to  retract ;  let  us  retract  when  we  can  ;  not 
when  we  must."  Pregnant  words!  The  man  who  had  led 
England  to  the  greatest  heights  of  glory  detected  a  deep 
meaning  in  this  little  American  Congress  at  Philadelphia. 
He  saw  that  they  had  left  the  door  wide  open'  to  a  settle 
ment  and  adjustment  of  all  difficulties,  that  they  wished 
to  avert  and  not  gain  independence,  that  their  cause  was 
strong  and  the  conquest  of  a  continent  impossible,  and  so 
he  pleaded  with  England  to  look  and  learn.  But  Chat 
ham  had  the  eye  of  a  great  statesman,  while  the  King  and 
ministry  were  dull  and  blind.  He  spoke  in  vain  ;  he  read 
the  writing  on  the  wall  to  deaf  ears.  The  rulers  of  Eng 
land  neither  saw  the  open  door  of  reconciliation  nor  com 
prehended  the  dangers  which  lurked  behind.  They  paid 
no  heed  to  arguments  and  pleas  ;  they  felt  only  irritation 
at  the  measures  which  went  with  the  words  of  the  addresses. 
For  Congress  had  not  onty  spoken  but  acted.  Before 
they  adjourned  on  October  26th,  they  had  passed  a  resolve 
against  the  slave-trade  ;  they  had  signed  agreements  to 
neither  import  nor  export,  exempting  rice  alone  from  the 


22  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

prohibition  of  trade  with  England  ;  they  appointed  a  sec 
ond  Congress,  and  they  voted  to  sustain  Massachusetts, 
where  the  conflict  had  begun  and  was  now  fast  culminat 
ing,  in  her  resistance  to  England.  Not  at  all  palatable 
this  last  vote  to  an  honest  gentleman  of  German  parentage 
who  was  trying  to  be  a  king.  It  is  to  be  feared  that  it  had 
more  effect  on  the  royal  mind  than  all  the  loyal  addresses 
ever  penned.  George  did  not  like  people  who  favored  re 
sistance  of  any  kind  to  what  he  wanted,  and  his  ministers 
were  engaged  in  sharing  his  likes  and  dislikes  at  that  period 
for  personal  reasons  very  obvious  to  themselves.  Highly 
offensive  too  was  the  proposition  to  have  another  Con 
gress,  inasmuch  as  the  very  existence  of  a  Continental 
Congress  meant  union,  and  the  ministry  relied  on  disunion 
among  the  colonies  for  success.  Arranging  for  a  second 
Congress  looked  unpleasantly  like  a  determination  to 
persist,  and  as  if  these  men  were  so  satisfied  of  the 
goodness  of  their  cause  that  they  were  bent  on  having 
what  they  wanted,  even  at  some  little  cost.  In  that  pur 
pose,  unfortunately,  they  were  somewhat  like  the  King 
himself.  Yet  to  all  men  now,  and  to  many  intelligent 
men  then,  it  seemed  a  pity  to  lose  these  great  colonies,  so 
anxious  to  remain  loyal  and  to  continue  part  of  the  British 
Empire,  merely  for  the  sake  of  taxing  them  against  their 
will.  All  England  had  heard  Chatham,  and  all  England 
l^new  from  him  what  this  Congress  meant.  After  he  had 
spoken  no  one  could  plead  ignorance.  It  only  remained 
io  see  what  England's  rulers  would  do,  and  it  soon  became 
clear  that  England's  rulers  would  do  nothing  except  persist 
in  their  policy  of  force.  Meantime  the  Congress  dispersed 
and  the  members  scattered  to  their  homes  to  wait  upon 
events.  They  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  they  had  begun  the 


THE  FIRST  STEP  23 

American    Revolution,    loyal,    peaceful,   and    anxious   for 
reconciliation  as  they  were. 

The  English  ministry  it  is  certain  did  not  comprehend 
at  all  what  this  Congress  meant.  They  were  engaged  in 
the  congenial  task  of  undertaking  to  rule  a  continental 
empire  as  if  it  were  a  village.  This  method  was  well 
adapted  to  their  own  mental  calibre,  but  was  not  suited 
to  the  merciless  realities  of  the  case.  Therefore  they  re 
garded  the  Congress  as  merely  an  audacious  performance 
which  was  to  be  frowned  upon,  punished,  and  put  down. 
The  members  of  the  Congress  themselves  took  a  much 
graver  and  j uster  view  of  what  had  happened.  They 
realized  that  the  mere  fact  of  a  Congress  was  itself  of 
great  moment,  that  it  meant  union,  and  that  union  was 
the  first  step  toward  an  American  nation  which  could  come 
only  from  the  breaking  down  of  local  barriers  and  the 
fusion  of  all  the  colonies  for  a  common  purpose.  They 
were  against  independence,  and  yet  they  saw,  what  the 
King  and  his  ministers  could  not  understand,  that  it  was 
a  very  near  possibility  if  the  existing  situation  was  con 
tinued.  But  it  is  also  clear  that  they  failed  to  see  be 
hind  the  possibility  of  independence  the  deeper  signifi 
cance  of  the  work  in  which  they  were  engaged.  This 
was  only  natural,  for  they  were  properly  absorbed  in  the 
practical  and  pressing  questions  with  which  they  were 
called  to  deal.  They  could  not  be  expected  to  grasp  and 
formulate  the  fact  that  they  were  beginning  the  battle  of 
the  people  everywhere  to  secure  control  of  their  own 
governments  for  which  they  paid  and  fought.  Yet  the 
doctrine  had  been  laid  down  for  them  twelve  years  before. 
In  1762  James  Otis,  with  one  of  those  flashes  of  deep  in 
sight  which  made  him  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  all 


24  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  men  who  led  the  way  to  revolution,  had  declared  in  a 
pamphlet  that  "  Kings  were  made  for  the  good  of  the 
people,  and  not  the  people  for  them."  This  was  one  of 
the  propositions  on  which  he  rested  his  argument.  For 
gotten  in  the  passage  of  time,  and  lost  in  the  hurly-burly 
of  events,  here  was  a  declaration  which  went  far  beyond 
any  question  of  colonial  rights  or  even  of  American  in 
dependence.  Here  was  a  doctrine  subversive  of  all  exist 
ing  systems  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  as  applicable 
to  Europe  as  to  America.  Now  in  1774  a  Congress 
had  met  and  had  acted  unconsciously,  but  none  the  less 
efficiently,  upon  Otis's  proposition.  For,  stripped  of  all 
disguises  and  all  temporary  questions,  this  was  what  the 
Congress  meant :  that  the  people  of  America  did  not  pro 
pose  to  have  Great  Britain  govern  them,  except  as  they 
pleased,  and  that  they  intended  to  control  their  own  gov 
ernments  and  govern  themselves.  Congress  had  taken 
the  first  step  along  this  new  road.  They  could  still  turn 
back.  The  English  ministry  had  still  time  to  yield.  But 
the  irrevocable  decision  was  to  be  made  elsewhere,  not 
in  London  nor  in  Philadelphia,  not  among  ministers  or 
members  of  Congress,  but  by  certain  plain  men  with  arms 
in  their  hands,  far  away  to  the  North,  whose  action  would 
put  it  beyond  the  power  of  Congress  to  retreat,  even  if 
they  had  desired  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    FIRST    BLOW 

IN  Philadelphia,  then,  Congress  took  the  first  step  in 
the  Revolution,  and  set  forth,  in  firm  and  able  fashion, 
the  arguments  on  which  they  rested  their  case  and  by 
which  they  still  hoped  to  convince  the  reason  and  appeal 
to  the  affection  of  the  English  people  and  the  English 
King.  They  were  far  from  convinced  that  they  would 
not  succeed  in  securing  a  change  of  the  British  policy 
which  they  were  resolved  to  resist,  as  they  had  already 
done  in  the  case  of  the  Stamp  Act,  ten  years  before. 
They  could  not  even  yet  believe  that  the  series  of  meas 
ures  directed  against  Boston  and  Massachusetts  showed 

o 

a  settled  determination  on  the  part  of  the  rulers  of  Eng 
land  to  make  them  subject  to  an  irresponsible  government, 
which  they  never  had  endured  and  to  which  they  never 
would  submit. 

When  Congress  adjourned,  on  October  26th,  much 
had  been  done,  but  the  question  was  not  to  be  settled  in 
the  field  of  debate.  The  dread  appeal  from  Parliaments 
and  Ministries  and  Congresses  was  to  be  taken  elsewhere, 
taken  under  the  pressure  of  inexorable  circumstances  by 
the  people  themselves.  Among  those  men  whose  an 
cestors  had  followed  Pym  and  Hampden  and  Cromwell 
when  they  crushed  crown  and  church  in  one  common 

25 


26  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

ruin  ;  whose  forefathers,  a  hundred  years  before,  defying 
Charles  II.,  had  sent  his  commissioners,  beaten  and  help 
less,  home,  and  later,  had  imprisoned  and  banished  James 
II.'s  governor,  this  new  resistance  to  England  first  took 
on  form  and  substance.  There,  in  Massachusetts,  that 
resistance  had  grown  and  culminated  since  the  days  of  the 
Stamp  Act.  In  that  colony  there  was  a  powerful  clergy 
determined  to  prevent  the  overthrow  of  the  Puritan 
churches  and  the  setting  up  of  the  Church  of  England. 
In  the  streets  of  Boston  there  had  been  rioting  and  blood 
shed,  and  Americans  had  been  killed  by  the  fire  of  British 
troops.  On  that  devoted  town  had  fallen  the  punishment 
of  an  angry  ministry,  and  her  closed  harbor  told  the  story 
of  a  struggle  which  had  already  passed  from  words  to  deeds. 
There  feeling  was  tense  and  strained,  arguments  were 
worn  out,  an  independent  provincial  government  was  fac 
ing  that  of  the  King,  and  popular  leaders  were  in  danger 
of  arrest  and  death.  Such  a  situation  could  not  last  long. 
The  only  question  was,  when  and  where  the  break  would 
come.  When  would  the  power  of  England  make  a  move 
which  would  cause  the  democracy  of  America  to  strike  at 
it  with  the  armed  hand  ?  That  once  done,  all  would  be 
done.  Congress  would  then  cease  to  argue  and  begin  to 
govern,  and  the  sword  would  decide  whether  the  old 
forces  or  the  new  were  to  rule  in  America. 

Looking  at  the  situation  now  it  is  clear  enough  that 
the  break  was  destined  to  come  from  some  attempt  by  the 
British  authorities  in  Massachusetts  to  stop  military  prep 
arations  on  the  part  of  the  colonists  by  seizing  their 
stores  and  munitions  of  war,  or  by  arresting  their  leaders. 
That  such  attempts  on  the  part  of  the  British  were  reason 
able  enough,  provided  that  they  both  expected  and  de- 


THE   FIRST   BLOW 


27 


sired  hostilities,  no  one  can  deny.  If  one  wishes  to  ex 
plode  a  powder-magazine,  it  is  sensible  to  fire  the  train 
which  leads  to  it.  But  if  one  does  not  desire  to  explode 


CONCORD  BRIDGE  A  T  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

gunpowder,  it  is  prudent  not  to  throw  lighted  matches 
about  in  its  immediate  neighborhood.  The  British  acted 
on  the  superficial  aspect  of  the  case,  without  considering 
ultimate  possibilities  and  results.  They  kept  on  lighting 


28  THE   STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

matches  to  see  whether  the  explosive  substances  under 
their  charge  were  all  right,  and  finally  they  dropped  one  in 
the  magazine.  Poor  Gage  and  the  rest  of  the  English 
commanders  in  Massachusetts  are  not  to  be  much  blamed 
for  what  they  did.  They  were  a  set  of  commonplace, 
mediocre  men,  without  imagination  and  without  knowl 
edge,  suddenly  called  upon  to  deal  with  what  they  thought 
was  a  little  case  of  rather  obstinate  disorder  and  bad  tem 
per  in  a  small  colony,  but  which  was  really  a  great  force 
just  stirring  into  life,  and  destined  to  shake  continents  and 
empires  before  its  course  was  stayed.  Small  wonder,  then, 
that  they  dealt  \vith  a  great  problem  in  a  little  wrong- 
headed  conventional  way,  and  reached  the  results  which 
are  to  be  expected  when  men  trifle  with  world-forces  in 
that  careless  and  stupid  fashion. 

Thus  Gage,  even  before  Congress  had  assembled,  sent 
over  to  Quarry  Hill,  near  Boston,  and  seized  cannons  and 
stores.  Thereupon  armed  crowds  in  Cambridge  next  day, 
tumult  and  disorder  in  the  streets,  the  Lieutenant-Gov- 
ernor,  Oliver,  forced  to  resign,  and  bloodshed  prevented 
only  by  Joseph  Warren,  summoned  in  haste  from  Boston. 
Reported  in  Philadelphia,  this  affair  took  on  the  form  of 
fighting  and  bloodshed  near  Boston,  and  the  chaplain  of 
Congress  read  from  the  Psalm :  "  Lord,  how  long  wilt 
thou  look  on  ?  Stir  up  thyself,  and  awake  to  my  judg 
ment,  even  unto  my  cause,  my  God  and  my  Lord." 
Worth  considering,  this  little  incident,  if  there  had  been 
men  able  to  do  so  in  England  at  that  moment.  To  those 
who  had  attentive  ears  and  minds  there  was  an  echo  there 
of  the  words  of  the  great  Puritan  captain  at  Dunbar, 
speaking  in  a  way  very  memorable  to  the  world  of  Eng 
land.  When  men  of  English  blood  side  by  side  with  the 


THE   FIRST   BLOW  29 

children  of  the  Huguenots  and  the  sons  of  Scotch  Cov 
enanters  and  of  the  men  of  Londonderry  begin  to  pray 
after  that  fashion,  a  dangerous  spirit  is  abroad  and  one 
not  lightly  to  be  tampered  with. 

Gage,  knowing  and  caring  nothing  about  prayers  or 
anything  else  at  Philadelphia,  but  annoyed  by  the  out 
break  at  Cambridge,  felt  in  his  dull  way  that  something 
was  wrong,  and  began  to  fortify  Boston  Neck.  Some 
how  he  could  not  get  his  work  done  very  well.  He  had 
his  barges  sunk,  his  straw  fired,  his  wagons  mired,  all  in 
unexplained  ways,  and  the  works  \vere  not  finished  until 
November.  At  the  same  time  his  movements  excited 
alarm  and  suspicion,  not  only  in  Boston,  but  elsewhere. 
In  December  the  cannon  were  taken  away  at  Newport  by 
the  Governor,  so  that  the  British  could  not  get  them.  A 
little  later  the  people  at  Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  entered  the 
fort  and  carried  off,  for  their  own  use  and  behoof,  the  guns 
and  the  powder. 

The  trouble  was  spreading  ominously  and  evidently. 
Massachusetts  for  her  part  knew  now  that  the  continent 
was  behind  her,  and  the  Provincial  Congress  in  February 
declared  their  wish  for  peace  and  union,  but  advised  prep 
aration  for  war.  How  much  effect  the  wishes  had  can 
not  be  said,  but  the  advice  at  least  was  eagerly  followed. 
The  people  of  Salem,  in  pursuance  of  the  injunction,  be 
gan  to  mount  cannon,  and  Gage  thereupon  sent  three 
hundred  men  to  stop  the  work.  The  town  was  warned  in 
time.  A  great  crowd  met  the  soldiers  at  the  bridge,  and 
Colonel  Leslie,  shrinking  from  the  decisive  step,  with 
drew.  It  was  a  narrow  escape.  Soldiers  and  people  had 
come  face  to  face  and  had  looked  in  each  others'  eyes, 
The  conflict  was  getting  very  close. 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


THE   OLD  BUG  KM  AN  TAVERN,  BUILT  idqo. 

Stands  on  the  tdge  of  Lexington  Common.     It  was  here  that  the  Minute  Men  gathered  after  the  alarm  on  tht 

night  before  the  fight. 

Again,  at  the  end  of  March,  Gage  sent  out  Lord 
Percy  with  some  light  troops,  who  marched  as  far  as 
Jamaica  Plain  and  returned.  The  Minute  Men  gathered, 
but  once  more  the  opposing  forces  stared  in  each  others' 
faces  and  parted  as  they  met.  The  Provincial  Congress 
adjourned  on  April  i5th.  Still  the  peace  was  unbroken, 
but  the  storm  was  near  at  hand.  British  officers  had  been 
scouring  the  country  for  information,  and  they  knew  that 
John  Hancock  and  Samuel  Adams  had  taken  refuge  in 


THE   FIRST   BLOW 


Lexington,  and  that  munitions  of  war  were  stored  at  Con 
cord,  a  few  miles  farther  on.  It  was  thereupon  determined 
to  seize  both  the  rebel  leaders  and  the  munitions  at  Con 
cord.  Other  expeditions  had  failed.  This  one  must  suc 
ceed.  All  should  be  done  in  secret,  and  the  advantage  of  a 
surprise  was  to  be  increased  by  the  presence  of  an  over 
whelming  force.  The  British  commander  managed  well, 
but  not  quite  well  enough.  It  is  difficult  to  keep  military 
secrets  in  the  midst  of  an  attentive  people,  and  by  the 
people  themselves  the  discovery  was  made.  Paul  Revere 
had  some  thirty  mechanics  organ 
ized  to  watch  and  report  the  move 
ments  of  the  British,  and  these  men 
now  became  convinced  that  an  ex 
pedition  was  on  foot,  and  one  of  a 
serious  character.  The  movement 
of  troops  and  boats  told  the  story 
to  watchers,  with  keen  eyes  and 
ears,  who  believed  that 
their  rights  were  in  -  - 

peril.     They  were  soon 
satisfied  that  the  expe 
dition  was  intended  for 
Lexington    and    Con 
cord,  to  seize  the  lead 
ers  and  the  stores ;  and 
acting    promptly 
on     this    belief 
they  gave  notice 
to  their  chiefs  in 
Boston   and    de- 
termined     to 


THE    OLD  "NORTH 


The    S.gnal    Lanterns   of 

PAUL  REVERE 

difplayed  in  the  ftceple  of  this  church 

April  18  1775 

warned  the  country  of  th«  march 
rf  the  Britilh   troops  to 

LEXINGTON  »nd  CONCORD. 


32  THE   STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

thwart   the   enemy's    plans    by    warning    and    rousing  the 
country. 

On  April  iSth,  Warren  sent  William  Dawes  by  land 
over  the  Neck  to  Roxbury  and  thence  to  Lexington  to 
carry  the  news.  Paul  Revere  arranged  to  have  lantern 
signals  shown  in  the  belfry  of  the  Old  North  Church, 
"  one  if  by  land,  and  two  if  by  sea,"  and  then  went  home, 
dressed  himself  for  a  night-ride,  and  taking  a  boat  rowed 
over  to  Charlestown.  It  was  a  beautiful  and  quiet  even 
ing.  As  his  boat  slipped  along  he  noted  that  the  Somerset 
man-of-war  was  just  winding  with  the  tide,  then  at  young 
flood.  The  moon  was  rising  and  shed  its  peaceful  light 
upon  the  scene.  Arrived  at  Charlestown,  Revere  secured 
a  horse  and  waited.  At  eleven  o'clock  two  lights  gleamed 
from  the  belfry  of  the  Old  North  Church,  showing  that 
the  troops  were  going  by  water  to  Cambridge,  and  Re 
vere  mounted  and  rode  away.  He  crossed  Charlestown 
Neck,  and  as  he  passed  the  spot  where  a  felon  had  been 
hung  in  chains,  he  saw  two  British  officers  waiting  to  stop 
him.  One  tried  to  head  him,  one  sought  to  take  him. 
But  Revere  knew  his  country.  He  turned  back  sharply 
and  then  swung  into  the  Medford  road.  His  pursuer  fell 
into  a  clay-pit  and  Revere  rode  swiftly  to  Medford, 
warned  the  captain  of  the  Minute  Men,  and  then  galloped 
on,  rousing  every  house  and  farm  and  village  until  he 
reached  Lexington.  There  he  awakened  Adams  and 
Hancock  and  was  joined  by  Dawes  and  by  Dr.  Samuel 
Prescott.  After  a  brief  delay  the  three  started  to  alarm 
the  country  between  Lexington  and  Concord.  They  had 
ridden  but  a  short  distance  when  they  were  met  by  four 
British  officers  who  barred  the  road.  Prescott  jumped  his 
horse  over  a  stone  wall  and  escaped,  carrying  the  alarm  to 


THE   FIRST   BLOW 


33 


PAUL   REVERE   ROUSING    THE   INHABITANTS  ALONG    THE   ROAD    TO 
LEXINGTON. 

Concord.  Revere  rode  toward  a  wood,  when  six  more 
British  officers  appeared  and  he  was  made  a  prisoner  and 
forced  to  return  with  Dawes  and  his  captors  to  Lexington. 
There  he  was  released,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  free  he  per- 


34 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


suaded  Adams  and  Hancock  to  go  to  VVoburn,  and  after 
accompanying  them  returned  to  get  their  papers  and 
effects.  As  he  was  engaged  in  this  work  he  heard  firing, 

and  the  sound  told  him  that 
he  had  not  ridden  through 
the  night  in  vain.  A  mem 
orable  ride  in  truth  it  was, 
one  which  spread  alarm  at  the 
time  and  has  been  much  sung 
and  celebrated  since.  Perhaps 
the  fact  which  is  best  worth  re 
membering  is  that  it  was  well 
done  and  answered  its  purpose. 
Under  the  April  moonlight, 
Revere  and  Dawes  and  Pres- 
cott  galloped  hard  and  fast. 
Brave  men,  and  efficient,  they 
defeated  the  British  plans  and 
warned  the  country.  The  new  day,  just  dawning  when 
Revere  heard  the  firing,  wras  to  show  the  value  of  their 
work. 

They  had  had,  indeed,  but  little  time  to  spare.  As 
Revere  was  mounting  his  horse,  Lieutenant-Colonel  Smith, 
with  eight  hundred  men,  was  crossing  the  Back  Bay  from 
Boston  to  Lechmere  Point.  At  two  o'clock  he  had  his 
men  landed,  and  they  set  forth  at  once,  silently  and  rapidly, 
toward  Lexington.  So  far  all  had  gone  well,  but  as  they 
marched  there  broke  upon  their  ears  the  sound  of  guns  and 
bells,  some  near,  some  distant,  but  in  every  one  the  note 
of  alarm.  The  country  was  not  asleep,  then  ?  On  the 
contrary,  it  seemed  to  be  wide  awake.  All  about  among 
the  hills  and  meadows  armed  men  were  gathered  at  the 


PAUL    REVERE,    BY  ST.   MEM  IN, 
1804. 


THE   FIRST   BLOW  35 

little  meeting-houses,  and  falling  into  line  prepared  for 
action.  Here,  in  the  tolling  of  the  bells  and  the  sound 
of  signal-guns,  was  much  meaning  and  cause  for  anxiety. 
Colonel  Smith  became  worried,  sent  back  to  Boston  for 
reinforcements  to  beat  these  farmers  at  whom  he  and  his 
friends  had  scoffed  so  often,  and  ordered  Major  Pitcairn 
forward  to  Lexington  with  six  light  companies,  still  hopeful 
of  surprise.  Major  Pitcairn  picks  up  everybody  he  meets, 
to  prevent  alarm  being  given  ;  but  one  Bowman,  an  active 
and  diligent  person,  as  it  would  seem,  and  a  brave  soldier  of 
the  last  French  war,  eludes  him,  rides  hotly  to  Lexington,  and 
warns  the  Minute  Men,  who  have  been  waiting  since  two 
o'clock,  and  had  almost  come  to  believe  that  the  British 
were  not  advancing  at  all.  So  when  Major  Pitcairn  got 
to  Lexington  Green,  about  half  past  four,  thanks  to  Bow 
man's  warning,  there  were  some  sixty  or  seventy  men  as 
sembled  to  meet  him.  "  Disperse,  ye  rebels  ;  disperse  !  " 
cried  Major  Pitcairn,  and  rode  toward  them.  There  was 
much  discussion  then,  and  there  has  been  much  more  since, 
as  to  who  fired  first.  It  matters  not.  It  is  certain  that 
the  British  poured  in 
a  volley  and  followed 
it  up  with  others.  The 
Minute  Men,  not  yet 
realizing  that  the  de 
cisive  moment  had  MAJOR  PITCAIRN' s  PISTOLS. 

Sltated,     SOme        These  pistols  were  taken  from  Pitcairn's  horse,  and  a  few  days  af- 

terward  were  presented  to  Israel  Putnam,  who  carried  them 
their    PTOUnd,  throughout  the  -war.       Later  theywere  presented  to  the  Cary 

Library,  and  are  now  in  the  Town  Hall  at  Lexington. 

some  scattering.    They 

fired  a  few  straggling  shots,  wounded  a  couple  of  British 
soldiers,  and  drew  off.  Eight  Americans  were  killed  and 
ten  wounded.  One  of  the  eight  had  carried  the  standard 


36  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

when  American  troops  captured  Louisburg,  and  thus  re 
deemed  for  England  an  otherwise  ineffective  war.  One 
was  wounded  and  bayoneted  afterward.  One  dragged 
himself  to  the  door  of  his  house  and  died  on  the  threshold 
at  his  wife's  feet.  What  matters  it  who  fired  first  ?  The 
first  blow  had  been  struck,  the  first  blood  shed.  The  peo- 


HARRINGTON  HOUSE,   LEXINGTON. 

In  the  foreground,  on  the  Common,  is  a  large  stone  marking  the  line  of  the  Minute  Men.    Jonathan  Harrington, 
after  being  shot,  dragged  himself  to  his  doorstep  and  there  died  at  his  wife' s  feet. 

pie,  in  obedience  to  the  orders  of  a  Provincial  Congress, 
had  faced  the  soldiers  of  England  in  arms.  They  had 
been  fired  upon  and  had  returned  the  fire.  It  was  not  a 
battle,  hardly  a  skirmish.  But  it  said  to  all  the  world  that 
a  people  intended  to  govern  themselves,  and  would  die 
sooner  than  yield  ;  a  very  pregnant  fact,  speaking  much 
louder  than  words  and  charged  with  many  meanings.  A 
wholly  new  thing  this  was  indeed,  to  have  people  ready  to 


THE   FIRST   BLOW 


39 


die  in  battle  for  their  rights,  when  a  large  part  of  the  rulers 
of  the  civilized  world  did  not  recognize  that  they  had  any 
rights  either  to  die  or  live  for.  A  great  example  to  be 
deeply  considered,  and  destined  to  bear  much  fruit,  was 
given  by  those  brave  men  who  died  on  Lexington  Green 
in  the  fair  dawn  of  that  April  morning. 

The  British  formed  after  the  encounter,  fired  a  volley, 


GENERAL   VIEW  OF  LEXINGTON  COMMON  AT  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

and  gave  three  cheers  for  their  victory.  If  a  victory  is  to 
be  judged  by  what  it  costs,  it  must  be  admitted  that  this 
one  was  but  modestly  celebrated,  for  it  is  safe  to  say  that 
it  was  the  most  expensive  victory  ever  won  by  England. 
From  another  point  of  view  the  celebration  was  premature, 
for  the  day  was  not  over  and  there  was  still  much  to  be 
done. 

The  English  soldiers   had   killed   some    Massachusetts 
farmers,  but  they  had  missed  the  rebel  leaders  at  Lex  ing- 


40  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ton.  No  time  was  to  be  lost  if  they  were  to  carry  out  the 
second  part  of  their  mission  and  destroy  the  stores  at 
Concord.  Thither,  therefore,  they  marched  as  rapidly  as 
possible.  Colonel  Smith,  a  little  disturbed  by  the  fighting 
on  Lexington  Green,  and  still  more  anxious  as  to  the 
futurev  not  liking  the  looks  of  things,  perhaps,  was  wronder- 


LORD  PERCY. 

Whose  timely  arrival  relieved  the  British  troops  under  Colond  Smith 
Prom  a  print  lent  by  W.  C.  Crane. 

ing,  no  doubt,  whether  they  were  sending  from  Boston  the 
aid  he  had  sent  for.  His  messenger,  if  he  could  have 
known  it,  was  safely  in  Boston  at  that  moment,  and  Gage 
gave  heed  at  once  to  the  appeal.  There  were  blunders  and 
delays,  but,  nevertheless,  between  eight  and  nine  o'clock, 
Lord  Percy,  with  about  a  thousand  men — soldiers  and 
marines — was  marching  out  of  Boston.  A  boy  named 
Harrison  Gray  Otis,  destined  to  much  distinction  in  later 


THE   FIRST   BLOW  41 

years,  was  delayed  in  getting  to  school  that  morning  by 
the  troops  marching  along  Tremont  Street.  He  reached 
the  Latin  School  in  time,  however,  to  hear  Lovell,  the 
schoolmaster,  say,  "  War's  begun.  School's  done.  Dimit- 
tite  libros"  and  then  rush  out  with  his  fellows  to  see  the 
red-coats  disappear  in  the  direction  of  the  Neck.  War 
was  in  the  air.  No  news  of  Lexington  had  yet  come,  but 
it  was  a  popular  revolution  which  was  beginning,  and  the 
popular  instinct  knew  that  the  hour  had  struck.  When 
the  British  reached  Roxbury,  Williams,  the  schoolmaster 
there,  like  Lovell  in  Boston,  dismissed  the  school,  locked 
the  door,  joined  the  minute-men,  and  served  for  seven  years 
in  the  American  army  before  returning  to  his  home.  As 
Lord  Percy  rode  along  the  band  played  "  Yankee  Doodle," 
and  a  boy  shouted  and  laughed  at  him  from  the  side  of  the 
road.  Lord  Percy  asked  him  what  he  meant,  and  the  boy 
replied,  "  To  think  how  you  will  dance  by  and  by  to  'Chevy 
Chase.'  "  *  The  contemporary  witness  who  chronicles  this 
little  incident  for  us  says  the  repartee  stuck  to  Lord  Percy 
all  day.  One  cannot  help  wondering  whether  it  made 
certain  lines  like  these  run  in  his  head  : 

"  The  child  that  is  unborn  shall  rue 
The  hunting  of  that  day." 

Again  it  is  the  voice  of  the  people,  of  the  schoolmaster 
and  his  scholars,  of  the  boys  in  the  street.  Very  trivial 
seemingly  all  this  at  the  moment,  yet  with  much  real  mean 
ing  for  those  who  were  engaged  in  bringing  on  the  con- 

*  There  is  no  doubt  that  the  band  played  "  Yankee  Doodle  "  in  derision,  but  the 
boy's  answer  is  so  very  apt,  and  apt  for  Lord  Percy  above  all  other  men  on  earth,  that 
it  seems  as  if  it  must  be  an  invention.  Yet  we  have  it  from  Dr.  Gordon,  a  contem 
porary  on  the  spot,  writing  down  all  incidents  at  the  moment,  and  he  was  a  pains 
taking,  intelligent  chronicler. 


42  THE  STORY  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

flict,  if  they  had  been  able  to  interpret  it.  It  certainly  was 
not  heeded  or  thought  about  at  all  by  Lord  Percy  as  he 
marched  on  through  Roxbury,  whence,  swinging  to  the 
right  across  the  meadows  and  marshlands,  he  passed  over 
the  bridge  to  Cambridge,  and  thence  away  to  Lexington, 
along  the  route  already  taken  by  the  earlier  detachment. 


BARRETT  HOUSE,  NEAR  CONCORD. 
Where  military  stores  -were  secreted,  and  also  one  of  the  objective  points  of  the  expedition  under  Colonel  Smith, 

Meantime,  while  Lord  Percy  was  setting  out,  Smith 
and  his  men  got  to  Concord,  only  to  find  cannon  and 
stores,  for  the  most  part,  gone.  A  few  guns  to  be 
spiked,  the  court-house  to  be  set  on  fire,  some  barrels  of 
flour  to  be  broken  open,  made  up  the  sum  of  what  they 
were  able  to  do.  For  this  work  small  detachments  were 
sent  out.  One  went  to  the  North  Bridge,  had  in  fact 
crossed  over,  when  they  perceived,  on  the  other  side,  the 


THE   FIRST   BLOW 


45 


Minute  Men  who  had  assembled  to  guard  the  town,  and 
who  now  advanced,  trailing  their  guns.  The  British  with 
drew  to  their  own  side  of  the  bridge  and 
began  to  take  it  up.  Major  Buttrick  re 
monstrated  against  this  proceeding,  and 
ordered  his  men  to  quicken  their  step. 
As  they  approached  the  British  fired,  inef 
fectually  at  first,  then  with  closer  aim,  and 
two  or  three  Americans  fell.  Buttrick 
sprang  forward,  shouting,  "  Fire,  fellow- 
soldiers  !  For  God's  sake  fire ! "  The 
moment  had  come  ;  the  Americans  fired, 
not  straggling  shots  now,  as  in  the  sur 
prise  at  Lexington,  but  intending  serious 
business.  Two  soldiers  were  killed  and 
several  wounded.  The  Americans  poured 
over  the  bridge,  the  British  retreated,  and 
the  Concord  fight  was  over.  The  shot, 
"heard  round  the  world,"  had  been  fired 
to  good  purpose,  both  there  and  elsewhere.  It  echoed  far, 
that  shot  of  the  Concord  and  Acton  farmers,  not  because 
it  was  in  defence  of  the  principle  that  there  must  be  no  tax 
ation  without  representation,  not  even  because  it  portended 
the  independence  of  America,  but  because  it  meant,  as  those 
fired  on  Lexington  Common  meant,  that  a  people  had  aris 
en,  determined  to  fight  for  the  right  to  govern  themselves. 
It  meant  that  the  instinct  which  pressed  the  triggers  at  the 
North  Bridge  was  a  popular  instinct,  that  the  great  demo 
cratic  movement  had  begun,  that  a  new  power  had  arisen 
in  the  world,  destined,  for  weal  or  woe,  to  change  in  the 
coming  century  the  forms  of  government  and  of  society 
throughout  the  civilized  nations  of  the  West. 


FLAG  CA  RRIED 
BY  THE  BED- 
FORD  MILL 
TIA  COMPANY 
AT  CONCORD 
BRIDGE. 

"  //  was  originally  de 
signed  in  England  in  1660- 
70  for    the    three    county 
troops    of   Middlesex,    and  be 
came  one  of  the  accepted  stand 
ards  of  the  organized  Militia 
of  the   State,    and  as  such   it 
was  used  by  the  Bedford  Com 
pany." 

WILLIAM  S.  APPLETOX, 
Mass.  Hist.  Society. 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


WRIGHT  TA  VERN,    CONCORD,   A  T  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

Built  1747.     Here  Major  Pit  cairn  stopped  to  refresh  himself. 

After  the  British  retreated  from  the  bridge,  the  Minute 
Men,  not  quite  realizing  even  yet  what  had  happened,  drew 
back  to  the  hills  and  waited.  Colonel  Smith  wasted  some 
two  hours  in  concentrating  and  resting  his  men,  and  about 
noon  started  back  for  Lexington.  At  first  he  threw  out 
light  detachments  to  keep  his  flanks  clear,  but  by  the  time 
he  reached  Merriam's  Corner  they  were  forced  by  the 
nature  of  the  ground  back  to  the  main  line.  Then  the 
fighting  began  in  earnest.  From  all  the  surrounding  towns 
the  Minute  Men  were  pouring  in.  There  was  a  brush  with 
a  flanking  party  just  as  Merriam's  Corner  was  reached. 
Then  as  the  British  passed  along  the  road,  in  most  parts 
thickly  wooded,  from  every  copse  and  thicket  and  stone 
wall  the  shots  would  ring  out  with  deadly  effect,  for  the 
Americans  were  all  trained  to  the  use  of  the  rifle.  A  de- 


THE   FIRST   BLOW  47 

tachment  would  be  thrown  out  to  clear  the  flank,  the 
enemy  would  scatter,  and  the  detached  soldiers  entangled 
in  the  brush  would  be  picked  off  more  easily  even  than  in 
the  road  itself.  The  Americans  seemed  "to  drop  from  the 
clouds,"  as  one  British  officer  wrote,  and  their  fire  came 


RECEIPT  SIGNED  BY  THE    MINUTE  MEN  OF  IPSWICH,  MASS.,    WHO 
MARCHED  ON  THE  ALARM,   APRIL   iq,    7775. 

The  original  of  this  document  is  in  the  Emmet  Collection  in  the  Lenox  Library. 


48  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

upon  the  enemy  on  both  flanks,  from  the  rear,  and  even  in 
front.     These  Minute  Men,  in  fact,  were  now  waging  the 


THE  RET  RE  A  T  FROM  CONCORD. 


kind  of  warfare  they  perfectly  understood.  Many  of  them 
had  served  in  the  old  French  war  ;  they  had  fought  the 
Indians  and  had  learned  from  their  savage  foe  how  to  slip 


THE   FIRST   BLOW  49 

from  tree  to  tree,  to  advance  under  cover,  fire,  and  retreat, 
each  man  acting  for  himself,  undisturbed  by  the  going  or 
coming  of  his  fellows,  and  free  from  any  danger  of  panic. 
In  a  word,  they  were  practising  backwoods  fighting  with 
deadly  effect  on  regular  troops  who  could  neither  under 
stand  nor  meet  it.  So  the  time  wore  on.  The  shots  from 
the  flanks  came  faster  and  faster,  officers  and  men  were 
dropping  beneath  the  deadly  fire,  the  ranks  were  breaking, 
and  only  the  desperate  efforts  of  the  officers  prevented  a 
panic  like  that  in  which  Braddock's  army  had  gone  down. 
On  through  the  pleasant  country  in  the  bright  spring  sun 
shine  they  went,  disorder  increasing,  men  falling,  ammuni 
tion  giving  out — a  fine  body  of  regular  and  disciplined 
troops  going  pitifully  and  visibly  to  wreck.  The  Lexington 
company,  out  again  in  force,  avenged  the  losses  of  the 
morning,  and  as  the  British  thus  beset  struggled  on,  they 
came  again  to  the  famous  common  where  they  had  cele 
brated  their  sunrise  victory.  No  thought  of  victories  now, 
only  of  safety  ;  and  here,  at  least,  was  relief.  Here  was 
Lord  Percy  with  his  fresh  brigade,  and  into  the  square 
which  he  had  formed  Smith's  hunted  men  rushed  wildly 
and  flung  themselves  down  on  the  ground,  utterly  ex 
hausted,  with  their  tongues  out,  says  the  British  historian 
Stedman,  "like  dogs  after  a  chase."  Here,  moreover,  the 
Americans  were  at  a  disadvantage,  for  it  \vas  an  open  space, 
and  Lord  Percy's  cannon  soon  cleared  the  ground,  while 
his  men  set  fire  to  the  houses.  The  Americans  drew  off 
and  waited.  They  had  only  to  be  patient,  for  they  knew 
their  time  would  come  again. 

Lord  Percy,  although  he  had  now  nearly  eighteen  hun 
dred  men,  made  no  attempt  to  attack  the  Americans,  who 
were  waiting  quietly  just  out  of  range.  After  a  brief 


50  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

period  of  rest  he  gave  the  word  and  the  troops  took  up 
their  march  for  Boston.  As  soon  as  they  started  the 
Americans  closed  in,  and  the  fighting  began  again  in  front, 
behind,  and  on  both  flanks.  More  Minute  Men  had  come 
up,  more  were  constantly  arriving.  There  would  be  heavy 
firing  and  sharp  fighting,  then  the  cannon  would  be  swung 
round,  then  a  lull  would  follow,  then  more  firing  and  fight 
ing,  until  the  cannon  lost  their  terror,  while  the  firing  grew 
constantly  heavier  and  the  fighting  sharper.  There  was  no 
time  to  go  round  by  Cambridge,  as  they  had  come  in  the 
morning.  Lord  Percy  made  straight  for  Charlestown,  the 
nearest  point  of  safety,  and  the  worst  attack  fell  on  him 
just  before  he  reached  his  haven  and  got  his  columns,  now 


GRAVE   OF  BRITISH  SOLDIERS,   NEAR    THE  BRIDGE  AT  CONCORD. 

broken  and  running,  under  the  guns  of  the  men-of-war.  At 
last  the  day  was  done — Lexington  and  Concord  had  had 
their  battles  and  taken  their  place  in  history. 

When  the  story  of  April   19,  1775,  is  told,  we  are  apt 


THE   FIRST   BLOW 


to  think  only  of  the  firing  at  sun 
rise  on  Lexington  Green,  and  of 
the  slight  skirmish  at  the  old 
North  Bridge  in  Concord.  We 
are  prone  to  forget  that  apart 
from  these  two  dramatic  points 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  severe 
fighting  during  that  memorable 
day.  A  column  of  regular  Eng 
lish  troops,  at  first  800,  then  1,800 
strong,  had  marched  out  to  Con 
cord  and  Lexington,  and  back  to 
Boston,  and  had  met  some  hun 
dreds  of  irregular  soldiers,  at  best 
militia.  They  retreated  before 
these  Minute  Men  for  miles,  and 
reached  Boston  in  a  state  not  far 
removed  from  rout  and  panic. 
The  running  fight  had  not  been 
child's  play  by  any  means.  The 
Americans  lost  88  men  killed 
and  wounded  ;  the  British  247, 
besides  26  missing  or  prisoners. 
These  were  serious  figures.  Evi 
dently  the  British  officers,  who  in  the  morning  of  that 
day  thought  the  Americans  had  neither  courage  nor  res 
olution,  would  have  to  revise  their  opinions,  unless  they 
were  ready  for  further  disasters.  But  more  important 
than  the  views  of  British  officers,  somewhat  tired  and  an 
noyed  that  evening  in  Boston,  was  the  fact  that  the 
American  fighting  had  been  done  by  the  people  themselves, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  It  was  every  man  for  himself. 


THE    MINUTE    MAN  AT    CON 
CORD  BRIDGE. 


(Daniel  C.  French,  Sciilftor.) 


52  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Heath  and  Warren  had  come  out  and  rallied  the  Minute 
Men  into  more  compact  bodies  here  and  there,  but  it  was 
the  Minute  Men's  fight.  A  common  instinct  moved  those 
Middlesex  yeomen,  and  it  appeared  that  they  were  ready  on 
their  own  account  to  take  up  arms  and  fight  in  their  back 
woods  fashion  hard  and  effectively.  Here  was  a  fact  de 
serving  much  pondering  from  kings  and  ministers,  who,  it 
is  to  be  feared,  gave  it  but  little  heed,  and  certainly  failed 
either  to  understand  it  or  to  fathom  its  deep  meaning  for 
them,  their  empire,  and,  in  certain  wider  aspects,  for  man 
kind. 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   SECOND   CONGRESS 

THE  Massachusetts  farmers  had  precipitated  the  cri 
sis.  They  had  fought  the  British  troops  and  now 
held  them  besieged  in  Boston.  Connecticut  and 
New  Hampshire  had  sustained  them  with  men  sent  to  share 
in  the  perils  of  the  time  an'd  help  to  lay  siege  to  the  British 
army.  Then  came  the  anxious  question  as  to  how  the  rest 
of  the  country  would  look  upon  what  had  been  done. 
Hitherto  the  other  colonies  had  sympathized  with  the 
Eastern  people  strongly,  and  thus  far  had  cordially  sup 
ported  them  ;  but  there  was  a  powerful  party,  especially  in 
the  Middle  States,  who  disliked  the  actions  and  suspected 
the  intentions  of  the  New  Englanders,  and  who  were 
strongly  averse  to  independence  or  to  any  breach  with  the 
mother-country.  How  would  these  other  colonies  act 
now  ?  Would  they  still  stand  by  Massachusetts,  or  would 
they  recoil  in  alarm  when  blood  had  been  shed  and  posi-- 
tive  action  one  way  or  the  other  was  no  longer  to  be 
avoided  ?  With  these  questions  upon  them  the  Provincial 
Congress  of  Massachusetts  drew  up  an  official  account  of 
the  events  of  April  iQth  and  sent  one  copy  to  England, 
where  the  news  caused  stocks  to  fall  and  startled  Lord 
North,  who  had  intelligence  and  perceptions  denied  to  his 
master,  while  another  was  despatched  by  express  through 

53 


54  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

all  the  other  colonies  to  South  Carolina.  A  momentous 
deed  had  been  done,  and  the  anxiety  of  the  doers  thereof  is 
shown  by  the  manner  in  which  this  official  narrative  was 
hurried  away  to  the  southward.  The  Massachusetts  dele 
gates  who  set  out  for  Philadelphia  within  a  fortnight  after 
the  Lexington  and  Concord  fight  may  well  have  b^n 
beset  with  doubts  and  fears  as  to  the  reception  which 
awaited  them  in  Congress. 

Samuel  and  John  Adams  again  led  the  delegation,  but 
to  their  little  company  was  now  added  a  man  destined  to 
become  one  of  the  best-known  names  of  the  Revolution, 
although  as  an  efficient  and  effective  actor  his  part  was 
small.  Rich,  well-born,  and  generous  in  expense,  John 
Hancock,  almost  alone  among  tlje  men  of  wealth,  family, 
and  office  who  then  formed  the  aristocracy  of  Boston,  had 
espoused  openly  the  side  of  opposition  to  Great  Britain. 
Samuel  Adams,  shrewd  judge  and  manager  of  men,  cul 
tivated  his  friendship,  flattered  his  vanity,  and  employed 
him  to  excellent  purpose.  Here  he  had  him  now  in  his 
company  as  a  Member  of  Congress,  and  we  shall  see  pres 
ently  how  he  used  him  there.  So  the  Massachusetts 
delegates,  thus  reinforced,  journeyed  on  together  through 
Connecticut.  There  they  already  knew  that  all  wras  safe 
and  sympathetic.  It  was  when  they  drew  near  the  Hud 
son  that  the  real  anxiety  began.  But  it  came  only  to  be 
dispelled,  for  as  they  approached  New  York  they  were  met 
by  a  company  of  grenadiers,  by  a  regiment  of  militia,  by 
carriages,  and  by  hundreds  of  men  on  foot.  As  they 
passed  along  into  the  town  the  roads  and  streets  were  lined 
with  people  who  cheered  them  loudly,  while  the  bells  of 
the  churches  rang  out  a  joyful  peal  of  welcome.  They 
were  heroes,  it  appeared,  not  culprits.  The  people  were 


JOHN  HANCOCK. 

Engraved Jrom  the  portrait  painted  by  Copley  in  1774-     A'ow  in  possession  oj  the  Boston  Miiseunt  of  Fine  Arts. 


THE  SECOND   CONGRESS  57 

with  them  here  as  in  New  England,  and  when  they  left 
the  city  they  were  escorted  again  by  the  militia,  and  again 
the  crowds  cheered  them  on  their  way.  So  it  was  all 
through  New  Jersey  to  Philadelphia.  Honors  and  rejoic 
ings  met  them  everywhere.  The  people  of  the  sister  colo 
nies  stood  firmly  by  Massachusetts  in  striking  the  first 
blow. 

The  second  Congress  met  on  May  loth.  The  leaders 
of  the  first  were  again  there — Washington,  Henry,  Lee, 
Jay,  and  the  two  Adamses.  With  them,  too,  were  some 
new  men  already  distinguished  or  destined  to  win  reputa 
tion.  Chief  among  these  new  members  was  Benjamin 
Franklin,  the  most  famous  American  then  living,  known 
throughout  Europe  for  his  scientific  discoveries  ;  known  in 
England  besides  as  the  fearless  champion  of  the  colonies  ; 
great  in  science  and  in  statecraft  ;  a  statesman  and  diplo 
matist  ;  a  man  of  letters  and  a  popular  writer,  whose  wit 
and  wisdom  were  read  in  many  tongues  ;  just  returned 
from  London,  "and  the  wisest  and  most  influential  man  in 
the  Congress.  It  is  worth  while  to  pause  a  moment  to  look 
at  Franklin,  standing  forth  now  as  a  leader  of  revolution, 
for  he  was  one  of  the  great  men  of  the  century.  He  was 
then  in  his  seventieth  year,  but  vigorous  and  keen  as  ever 
in  mind  and  body.  He  could  have  done  more  than  any 
other  one  man  to  prevent  colonial  revolt,  for  he  was  emi 
nently  conservative  and  peace-loving,  as  well  as  truly  loyal 
to  the  mother-country.  The  ministry,  who  would  have 
listened  to  him  and  been  guided  by  him,  would  have  held 
America,  and  fastened  it  tighter  than  ever  to  the  Empire. 
Instead  of  this,  official  England  set  her  Solicitor-General 
to  vilify  and  abuse  him  in  the  presence  of  the  Privy  Coun 
cil  and  before  the  English  people.  Franklin  listened  in 


58  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

silence  to  the  invective  then  heaped  upon  him,  and  the 
most  powerful  friend  to  peace,  union,  and  conciliation  was 
lost  to  England.  Now  he  had  come  back  to  guide  his 
countrymen  among  the  dangers  which  beset  them,  and  to 
win  allies  for  them  from  beyond  seas.  In  the  man  of 
science,  letters,  and  philanthropy  we  are  apt  to  lose  sight 
of  the  bold  statesman  and  great  diplomatist.  We  always 
think  of  that  familiar  face  \vith  the  fine  forehead  and  the 
expression  of  universal  benevolence.  But  there  was  another 
aspect.  Look  at  the  picture  of  Franklin  where  the  fur  cap 
is  pulled  down  over  his  head.  The  noble  brow  is  hidden, 
the  pervading  air  of  soft  and  gentle  benevolence  has  faded, 
and  a  face  of  strength  and  power,  of  vigorous  will  and  of 
an  astuteness  rarely  equalled,  looks  out  at  us  and  fixes  our 
attention.  This  versatile  genius,  in  whom  the  sternness  of 
the  Puritan  mingled  with  the  scepticism  and  tolerance  of 
the  eighteenth-century  philosopher,  was  not  one  to  be 
lightly  reviled  and  abused.  It  would  have  been  well  for 
Wedderburn,  who,  at  his  death,  in  the  words  of  his  affec 
tionate  sovereign,  "  left  no  greater  knave  behind  him,"  if 
he  had  not  added  to  the  list  of  ministerial  blunders  that  of 
making  an  enemy  of  Franklin.  All  these  incidents  which 
had  befallen  him  in  London  were  as  well  known  as  Frank 
lin's  fame  in  science  and  his  distinction  in  the  public  ser 
vice,  and  we  can  easily  imagine  how  he  was  looked  up  to 
in  America,  and  how  men  turned  to  him  when  he  appeared 
in  Congress.  He  was  the  great  figure  at  this  second  gath 
ering,  but  not  the  only  one  among  the  new  members  who 
deserved  remark.  From  Massachusetts  came,  as  has  been 
said,  John  Hancock,  and  from  New  York  George  Clinton 
and  Robert  Livingston,  who  were  to  play  conspicuous  parts 
in  the  Revolution  and  in  the  early  years  of  the  new  nation 


THE  SECOND   CONGRESS  59 

which  sprang  from  it,  while  a  little  later  Virginia  sent 
Thomas  Jefferson  to  fill  a  vacant  place. 

Never  indeed  was  the  best  ability  of  the  country  more 
needed,  for  events  had  moved  fast  in  the  six  months  which 
had  elapsed  since  the  first  Congress  adjourned.  War  had 
broken  out,  and  this  second  Congress  found  itself  facing 
realities  of  the  sternest  kind.  Yet  the  members  were 
merely  delegates,  chosen  only  to  represent  the  views  and 
wishes  of  the  colonies  in  regard  to  their  relations  with 
Great  Britain.  Beyond  this  they  had  no  authority. 
Many  of  them  had  been  irregularly  elected  by  popular 
meetings.  Their  instructions  varied,  but  none  empowered 
them  to  form  a  government.  They  had  not  a  square  foot 
of  territory  which  they  could  control  ;  they  had  no  execu 
tive  powers  ;  no  money  ;  no  authority  to  make  laws,  and 
no  means  to  carry  them  out.  And  yet  the  great  forces 
were  moving,  and  they  had  to  face  facts  which  demanded 
a  vigorous  and  efficient  government. 

Even  as  they  met  on  May  loth  a  British  fortress  had 
been  seized  by  the  colonists,  for  Lexington  and  Concord 
had  set  in  motion  a  force  which,  once  started,  could 
neither  be  stayed  nor  limited.  The  first  military  and  polit 
ical  object  of  England  when  actual  war  came  obviously 
would  be  to  divide  New  England  from  the  middle  colonies 
by  controlling  the  line  of  the  Hudson  River  to  the  lakes 
lying  on  the  borders  of  Vermont  and  New  York.  The 
key  of  the  position  was  the  fortress  at  Ticonderoga  which 
commanded  the  lakes,  and  in  this  way  the  road  from 
Canada  to  New  York  Harbor.  Very  early  in  the  troubles 
the  New  England  leaders  saw  this  situation,  and  when  the 
conflict  broke  they  moved  quickly.  Adams  and  Hancock 
counselled  with  the  Governor  of  Connecticut  and  sent 


6o 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


an  express  to  Ethan  Allen  in  the  Green  Mountains  to 
prepare  to  seize  the  fort.  Then  some  fifty  men  went  for 
ward  from  Connecticut  and  Massachusetts  and  met  Ethan 
Allen  at  Bennington.  An  alarm  was  sent  out,  about  a 
hundred  hardy  men  from  the  mountains  joined  the  de 
tachment  from  the  South,  Allen  was  chosen  leader,  and 


THE    RUINS    OF    TfCONDEROGA,  LOOKING    NORTHWEST,    SHOWING    THE    RE- 
MAINS  OF  THE  BASTION  AND  BARRACKS. 


on  May  8th  they  started.  The  night  of  May  gth  they 
were  near  the  fort,  and  waited  for  the  day  to  come.  When 
the  first  faint  flush  of  light  appeared,  Allen  asked  every 
man  who  was  willing  to  go  with  him  to  poise  his  gun. 
Every  gun  was  raised.  Allen  gave  the  word  and  they 
marched  to  the  entrance  of  the  fort.  The  gate  was  shut, 
but  the  wicket  open.  The  sentry  snapped  his  fuzee,  and 
Allen,  followed  by  his  men,  dashed  in  through  the  wicket, 


THE    CAPTURE    OF    TICOXDEROGA    BY    ETHAN   ALLEN. 
There  was  but  little  resistance,  and  the  sentries,  after  one  or  two  shots,  threw  down  their  arms. 


THE  SECOND  CONGRESS  63 

raised  the  Indian  war-whoop  and  formed  on  the  parade, 
covering  the  barracks  on  each  side.  There  was  but  little 
resistance,  and  the  sentries,  after  one  or  two  shots,  threw 
down  their  arms,  while  Allen  strode  forward  toward  the 
quarters  of  the  commandant.  As  he  reached  the  door, 
Delaplace  appeared,  undressed,  and  Allen  demanded  the 
surrender  of  the  fort.  "  By  what  authority  ?  "  asked  Dela 
place.  "  In  the  name  of  the  great  Jehovah  and  the  Con 
tinental  Congress,"  answered  Allen.  No  stranger  military 
summons  was  ever  made,  with  its  queer  mingling  of  Puri 
tan  phrase  and  legal  form.  But  it  served  its  purpose 
better  than  many  an  elaborate  demand  framed  in  the  best 
style  of  Louis  the  Great,  for  it  was  perfectly  successful. 
The  fort  which  had  cost  England  several  campaigns,  many 
lives,  and  some  millions  of  pounds,  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  Americans  in  ten  minutes.  The  reason  was  plain. 
The  Americans  were  quick-witted,  knew  the  enormous 
value  of  the  position,  and  acted  at  once.  Thus  by  a  sur 
prise  they  succeeded  ;  but  none  the  less  real  wisdom  lay 
behind  Allen's  prompt  and  vigorous  action.  As  a  military 
exploit  it  was  all  simple  enough  :  nerve  and  courage  at  the 
right  moment,  and  the  deed  was  done.  But  the  foresight 
which  planned  and  urged  the  deed  to  execution  showed 
military  and  political  sense  of  a  high  order.  Nor  was  that 
all.  Seth  Warner  seized  Crown  Point,  and  another  party 
took  possession  of  the  harbor  of  Skenesboro.  The  road 
from  Canada  to  New  York  was  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
Americans,  a  fact  fruitful  of  consequences  when  a  battle 
which  has  been  set  down  as  one  of  the  decisive  battles  of 
the  world  was  to  be  fought  a  few  years  later.  Important, 
too,  were  the  two  hundred  cannon  taken  in  Ticonderoga 
and  destined  to  play  an  essential  part  a  few  months  later 


64 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


in  driving  the  British  from  their  first  military  foothold 
in  America.  Altogether  a  brave  deed,  this  of  Allen  and 
his  mountain  men  ;  very  punctually  and  thoroughly  per 
formed,  and  productive  of  abundant  results,  as  is  usually 
the  case  with  efficient  action,  which,  without  criticism, 


NEAR    VIEW  OF   THE  RUINS   OF  THE   OFFICERS' 
QUARTERS  AT  TICONDEROGA. 


Plan  Showing  Karracks 
Officers'  Quarters.  The 
•ed  7c ay  by  which  Alien 
•ed  is  also  indicated. 


carpings,  or  doubts,  drives  straight  on   at 

the  goal  to  be  attained. 
While  Ethan  Allen  and  his  men  were  thus  hurrying 
events  forward  in  their  own  rough-and-ready  fashion  that 
pleasant  May  morning,  the  members  of  the  second  Con 
gress  were  meeting  in  Philadelphia.  They  knew  nothing 
of  what  was  happening  far  to  the  north,  or  of  how  the 
men  of  the  Green  Mountains  were  forcing  them  on  to 
measures  and  responsibilities  from  which  they  still  shrank, 
and  which  they  had  not  yet  put  into  words.  They  would 


THE  SECOND   CONGRESS  65 

learn  it  all  soon  enough  from  messengers  hurrying  south 
ward  from  Ticonderoga,  but  they  already  had  ample  food 
for  thought  without  this  addition.  The  King  and  his 
Ministers  had  rejected  and  flouted  their  appeals  sent 
to  England  six  months  before,  and  had  decided  on 
fresh  measures  of  coercion.  Their  friends  in  Parliament 
had  been  beaten.  The  farmers  of  Massachusetts  had 
fought  the  King's  troops,  and  now  held  those  troops  be 
sieged  in  Boston  with  a  rough,  undisciplined  army.  Rec 
ognition,  reasonable  settlement,  mutual  concessions,  had 
drifted  a  good  deal  farther  off  than  when  they  last  met. 
If  the  situation  had  been  grave  in  1774,  it  was  infinitely 
graver  and  more  difficult  now.  How  were  they  to  deal 
with  it,  devoid  as  they  were  of  proper  powers  for  action 
and  still  anxious  to  remain  part  of  the  British  Empire  ? 
A  very  intricate  question  this,  but  they  faced  it  man 
fully.  ' 

They  began,  as  before,  by  electing  Peyton  Randolph 
President,  and  when  shortly  afterward  he  was  called  home, 
they  went  from  Virginia  to  Massachusetts  for  his  succes 
sor.  The  use  of  John  Hancock  now  became  apparent, 
and  we  can  see  why  Samuel  Adams  had  brought  him 
from  Boston.  He  had  the  wealth,  the  position,  the  man 
ners  which  made  him  attractive  to  the  delegates  from  the 
other  colonies.  He  was  free  from  the  suspicion  of  being 
too  radical  and  dangerous,  which  clung  to  both  Samuel 
and  John  Adams,  despite  the  fact  of  his  association  with 
them.  He  was  dignified,  courtly,  well  known.  It  was 
very  important  to  Massachusetts,  which  had  ventured  so 
far  in  open  rebellion,  that  Congress  should  stand  by  her. 
To  have  the  President  of  the  Congress,  if  Virginia,  the 
other  strongly  resisting  colony,  did  not  furnish  that 


66  THE   STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

officer,  was  an  important  step.  In  itself  it  carried  sup 
port  and  approbation,  for  John  Hancock  was  a  proscribed 
man,  and  Benjamin  Harrison,  as  he  escorted  him  to  the 
chair,  said  they  would  show  Great  Britain  how  much  they 
cared  for  her  proscriptions.  Samuel  Adams  could  not 
have  been  elected  President,  John  Hancock  could  be 
and  accordingly,  when  Randolph  withdrew,  he  was  chosen. 
He  was  an  excellent  presiding  officer  and  accustomed  tc 
be  governed  and  guided  by  Adams.  His  election  meant 
that  the  party  of  firm  resistance  to  England,  whose  bul 
warks  were  Virginia  and  Massachusetts,  controlled  the 
Congress,  something  much  more  essential  to  them  now 
than  six  months  before.  Be  it  noted  also  that  to  fill  Ran 
dolph's  place  as  delegate  there  shortly  arrived  a  tall, 
rather  awkward-looking  young  man,  with  reddish  hair  and 
a  pleasant  face  and  look.  His  name  was  Thomas  Jeffer 
son,  and  although  he  proved  a  silent  member,  he  so  won 
upon  his  associates  that  he  was  placed  on  important  com 
mittees,  and  a  little  later  showed  that  if  he  would  not 
speak  in  public,  he  could  write  words  which  the  world 
would  read  and  future  generations  repeat.  Among  the 
delegates  who  came  late  we  must  also  remark  one  named 

o 

Lyman  Hall,  from  the  parish  of  St.  John's  in  Georgia, 
where  there  was  a  New  England  settlement.  His  arrival 
completed  the  tale  of  the  American  Colonies.  The  thir 
teen  in  one  way  or  another  all  had  representation  in  the 
new  Congress.  The  union  of  the  colonies,  which  was  so 
dangerous  to  British  supremacy,  was  evidently  growing 
more  complete  and  perfect. 

The  work   of   organization   done,  the  Congress   faceq 
the  situation,  and  solved  the  question  of  lack  of  authorit) 
by    boldly    assuming    all    necessary    executive    powers    a: 


THE  SECOND   CONGRESS  67 

events  required.  In  committee  of  the  whole  they  re 
viewed  the  proceedings  in  Massachusetts,  and  then  ensued 
a  series  of  contradictions  very  characteristic  of  the  law- 
abiding  English  people,  and  reminding  one  strongly  of  a 
time  when  the  Long  Parliament  made  war  on  the  king  in 
the  king's  name.  These  colonial  Englishmen  resolved 
that  Great  Britain  had  begun  hostilities  and  at  the  same 
time  protested  their  loyalty.  They  declared  they  were  for 
peace,  advised  New  York  to  allow  the  British  troops  to 
be  landed  from  the  Asia,  and  then  voted  to  put  the  col 
onies  in  a  position  of  defence.  Under  the  lead  of  John 
Dickinson,  they  agreed  to  petition  the  king  again,  and 
authorized  addresses  to  the  people  of  England,  to  the 
people  of  Ireland,  and  to  their  fellow-colonists  of  Canada 
and  of  Jamaica.  When  the  news  of  Ticonderoga  came, 
they  decided  not  to  invade  Canada,  and  hesitated  even 
about  the  wisdom  of  holding  the  forts  they  had  taken. 
Then,  pushed  on  by  events,  they  proceeded  to  exercise 
the  highest  sovereign  powers  by  authorizing  a  small  loan 
and  organizing  an  army.  On  June  I5th,  John  Adams 
moved  that  they  adopt  the  army  then  at  Boston,  and,  rep 
resenting  New  England,  declared  that  the  head  of  that 
army  should  be  their  distinguished  colleague  from  Vir 
ginia,  who  thereupon  left  the  room.  The  proposition 
prevailed,  and  two  days  later,  on  the  motion  of  Mr.  John 
son  of  Maryland,  carrying  out  the  suggestion  of  John 
Adams,  they  formally  chose  George  Washington  to  com 
mand  what  was  henceforth  to  be  known  as  the  Conti 
nental  Army,  then  engaged  in  besieging  the  British  in 
Boston.  It  was  a  noble  choice,  one  worth  remembering, 
for  they  took  the  absolutely  greatest  and  fittest  man  in 
America,  a  feat  which  is  seldom  performed,  it  being  too 


68  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

often  left  to  events  to  throw  out  the  unfit  selections  made 
by  men  and  put  in  their  stead  those  to  whom  the  places 
really  belong. 

Washington  himself,  silently  watching  all  that  hap 
pened  with  the  keen  insight  which  never  was  at  fault, 
always  free  from  illusions,  and  recognizing  facts  with  a 
veracity  of  mind  which  was  never  clouded,  knew  well  that 
the  time  for  addresses  and  petitions  had  passed.  Averse 
as  he  had  been  to  independence  as  an  original  proposition, 
he  was  not  deceived  by  any  fond  fancies  in  regard  to  the 
present  situation,  which  had  developed  so  rapidly  in  a  few 
months.  War  had  begun,  and  that  meant,  as  he  well 
knew,  however  men  might  hesitate  about  it,  a  settlement 
by  war.  He  had  already  made  up  his  mind  fully  as  to  his 
own  course,  and  when  the  great  responsibility  came  to  him 
he  accepted  it  at  once,  without  shrinking,  solemnly  and 
modestly,  stipulating  only  that  he  should  receive  no  pay 
above  his  expenses,  and  saying  that  he  did  not  feel  equal 
to  the  command.  Artemus  Ward,  then  in  command  at 
Boston,  Philip  Schuyler,  Israel  Putnam,  and  Charles  Lee, 
the  last  an  English  adventurer,  glib  of  tongue  and  quite 
worthless,  were  chosen  major-generals.  Horatio  Gates, 
another  Englishman,  thanks  to  the  same  natural  colonial 
spirit  which  chose  Lee,  was  appointed  adjutant-general. 
Pomeroy,  Heath,  and  Thomas  of  Massachusetts,  Wooster 
and  Spencer  of  Connecticut,  Sullivan  of  New  Hampshire, 
Montgomery  of  New  York,  and  the  Quaker,  Nathaniel 
Greene  of  Rhode  Island,  who  proved  the  most  brilliant  of 
them  all,  were  appointed  brigadiers. 

Thus,  while  they  petitioned  the  King,  shrank  from  in 
dependence,  and  sought  conciliation  and  peace  by  ad 
dresses  and  memorials,  the  second  American  Congress  at 


THE  SECOND  CONGRESS  69 

the  same  time  took  into  their  service  an  army  already  in 
the  field,  and  sent  the  greatest  soldier  of  the  time  to  com 
mand  it  and  to  fight  the  troops  of  the  Sovereign  whom 
they  still  acknowledged.  Very  contradictory  and  yet  very 
human  and  natural  all  this,  for  great  causes  are  not  carried 
out,  nor  do  great  forces  move  upon  the  straight  lines 
marked  out  by  the  critic  or  the  student,  but  along  the 
devious  and  winding  paths  which  human  nature  always 
traces  for  itself  when  it  is  brought  face  to  face  with  diffi 
culties  and  trials  which  it  would  fain  avoid  and  must  meet. 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    REPLY   TO    LORD    SANDWICH 

WHILE  Congress  was  thus  debating  and  resolv 
ing,  the  people  were  acting.  After  the  Con 
cord  fight  some  sixteen  thousand  armed  men 
gathered  about  Boston  and  laid  siege  to  the  town.  They 
were  under  different  and  independent  commands,  undis 
ciplined,  ill-armed,  with  no  heavy  guns  fit  for  siege  opera 
tions.  But  through  their  zeal  in  a  common  cause,  for  the 
time,  at  least,  they  made  up  in  activity  what  they  lacked 
in  organization  and  equipment.  They  managed  to  cut  off 
Boston  from  the  surrounding  country,  so  that  actual  dis 
tress  began  to  prevail  among  the  inhabitants,  and  thou 
sands  who  sympathized  with  the  patriots  abandoned  the 
town  and  made  their  way  to  the  neighboring  villages. 
With  no  regular  works  anywhere,  the  Americans  still  con 
trived  to  have  men  at  all  important  points,  and  in  some 
fashion  to  prevent  communication  with  the  country.  In 
addition  they  swept  the  harbor-islands  clean  of  cattle  and 
sheep,  and  this  work  led  to  frequent  skirmishes,  in  one  of 
which  the  Americans  destroyed  two  British  vessels  and 
drove  off  the  royal  troops.  An  effort  to  provision  Boston 
with  sheep  brought  from  the  southward  was  frustrated  by 
the  people  of  New  Bedford,  who  fitted  out  two  vessels, 

captured  those  of  the  enemy  with  the  live-stock  on  board, 

70 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      71 

and  beat  off  a  British  sloop-of-war.  It  is  not  easy  to  un 
derstand  how  the  Americans,  ill-equipped  as  they  were, 
were  able  thus  to  maintain  the  lines  around  Boston  and 
hold  besieged  regular  troops  amounting  at  that  time  to 
over  five  thousand  men,  and  very  soon  afterward  to  more 
than  ten  thousand.  The  fact  can  be  explained  only  by 
the  utter  incompetency  of  the  British  commander,  Gen 
eral  Gage.  With  the  troops  under  him  he  ought  at  any 
time  to  have  been  able  to  break  the  extended  American 
line  and  drive  them  from  point  to  point.  Indeed,  he 
should  never  have  permitted  them  to  close  in  on  him. 
Instead  of  taking  vigorous  action,  however,  he  occupied 
himself  with  making  treaties  with  the  selectmen  of  the 
town  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  inhabitants  and  with  issu 
ing  fierce  proclamations,  while  he  allowed  the  enemy  to 
hold  him  a  virtual  prisoner.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at 
that  when  Burgoyne,  Clinton,  and  Howe  arrived  with  re 
inforcements  they  should  have  been  amazed  that  the  King's 
troops  had  not  long  since  beaten  and  driven  off  the  "  peas 
ants,"  as  they  called  them,  who  surrounded  the  town.  Yet 
the  new  generals  seem  only  to  have  added  to  the  sum  total 
of  British  incompetency.  With  largely  increased  forces 
they  still  did  not  attack  the  Americans  or  drive  them  away. 
On  the  contrary,  the  attack  came  from  the  "  peasants," 
and  not  from  the  army  of  veterans  imprisoned  in  Boston. 

The  Americans  were  spurred  on  to  action  by  reports 
that  the  British  were  about  to  seize  certain  strategic  points 
and  fortify  them,  and  that  expeditions  were  preparing  for 
this  purpose.  In  order  to  be  beforehand  with  them  the 
council  of  war  prepared  a  plan  for  a  series  of  works  and 
redoubts  on  the  northern  side  of  the  city,  reaching  from 
what  is  now  Somerville  to  the  hills  of  Charlestown,  which 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


PLAN" 

OFTHE 

BATTLE  OFBUNKER  HILL. 

AFTER  THE  MAP  MADE 

FROM  THE  SURVEYS  OFTHEBRITISH  CAPTAIN 

MONTRESOR  BY  LIEUT. PAGE, AIDE  DE 

CAMP  TO  GENERAL  HOWE. 


[It  will  be  noticed  that  this  map,  from  British  surveys,  perpetuates  the  mistake 
which  caused  the  name  of  Bunker  Hill,  rather  than  Breed's  Hill,  to  be  given  to  the 
battle.  In  reality,  Breed's  Hill,  where  the  redoubt  was,  is  the  one  nearer  Boston.] 


bordered  on  the  river  and  harbor.  General  Ward  and 
others  of  the  commanding  officers  naturally  opposed  this 
plan  so  far  as  it  related  to  the  extreme  point  of  the  hills  in 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      73 

Charlestown,  for  the  very  excellent  reason  that  they  had 
but  little  powder  and  no  cannon,  and  that  without  these 
essential  aids  it  seemed  rash  in  the  extreme  to  take  a  posi 
tion  near  the  British  lines  which  threatened  Boston  itself, 
and  where  they  could  be  cut  off  by  an  enterprising  ene 
my  seizing  the  narrow  neck  which  connected  the  penin 
sula  with  the  main  land.  While  they  were  debating  this 
question  news  came  from  a  trustworthy  source  that  on 
June  1 8th  the  British  intended  to  seize  Dorchester  Heights, 
to  the  south  of  the  town,  and  it  was  clear  that  if  they 
should  be  successful  in  this  movement  it  would  not  only 
absolutely  protect  Boston,  but  would  make  the  American 
positions  difficult  if  not  untenable.  Considerations  of  pru 
dence  were  therefore  laid  aside,  and  the  committee  of 
safety  decided  that  it  was  necessary  to  occupy  at  once 
Charlestown  Neck  and  Bunker  Hill.  General  Ward  and 
the  others  were  quite  right  in  thinking  this  a  desperate  un 
dertaking  for  which  they  were  totally  unprepared,  and  yet 
the  committee  of  safety,  favored  as  they  were  by  fortune, 
proved  to  be  on  the  broadest  grounds  correct.  It  was  es 
sential  to  hold  the  British  where  they  were  in  the  town. 
If  they  once  got  possession  of  the  commanding  points  out 
side,  it  would  be  impossible  to  drive  them  out  of  Boston, 
and  one  of  the  principal  American  cities  would  remain  in 
the  enemy's  hands.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Americans 
seized  a  position  close  to  the  British  lines  and  became  the 
aggressors,  then  whether  they  failed  or  succeeded  in  hold 
ing  their  ground  permanently,  they  would,  by  fighting, 
prevent  the  enemy  from  making  an  advance  movement, 
and  from  so  strengthening  and  extending  his  lines  that  he 
could  neither  be  closely  beseiged  nor  forced  from  the 
town. 


74  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Thus  it  came  about,  either  by  sound  military  instinct 
or  by  equally  sound  reasoning,  that  the  order  was  issued 
to  occupy  and  fortify  Bunker  Hill  in  Charlestown,  and 
late  in  the  afternoon  of  June  i6th  the  troops  selected  for 
this  duty  were  ordered  to  parade.  Three  Massachusetts 
regiments,  two  hundred  Connecticut  men  as  a  fatigue 
party,  and  an  artillery  company  with  two  field-pieces 
formed  the  detachment.  Drawn  up  on  Cambridge  Com 
mon  they  stood  quietly  in  the  summer  twilight  and  listened 
to  the  fervent  prayer  of  Samuel  Langdon,  the  President 
of  Harvard  College,  as  he  blessed  them  and  bade  them 
God-speed.  Then  the  word  was  given,  and  with  Colonel 
Prescott  in  command  and  at  the  front,  and  their  intrench 
ing  tools  in  carts  bringing  up  the  rear,  they  started  as  the 
darkness  fell  and  marched  to  Charlestown.  When  they 
reached  the  Neck  they  halted,  and  a  small  party  was  de 
tached  to  guard  and  \vatch  the  town  while  the  main  body 
went  on  to  Bunker  Hill.  Here  they  halted  again,  and  a 
long  discussion  ensued  as  to  where  they  should  intrench. 
The  orders  said  plainly  Bunker  Hill,  but  the  nature  of  the 
ground  said  with  equal  plainness  Breed's  Hill,  which  was 
farther  to  the  front,  nearer  to  the  river,  and  more  threaten 
ing  to  the  city.  The  dispute  went  on  until  the  engineer 
begged  for  a  speedy  decision,  and  they  then  determined 
to  throw  up  the  intrenchments  on  Breed's  Hill  and  fortify 
Bunker  Hill  afterward. 

Then  the  work  began.     Gridley  marked  out  the  lines 

O  J 

for  the  intrenchment  and  did  it  well.      He  was  an  accom 
plished  engineer  and  had  seen  service  at  Louisburg  and  in 
the   old  French  war.     The  redoubt   he  laid  out  in   haste1 
that  night  excited  the  admiration  of  the  enemy  the  next 
day.     The  lines  drawn,  a  thousand  men  set  to  work  with 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      77 

spades  to  raise  the  earthworks.  These  American  soldiers, 
called  hastily  from  their  farms,  lacked  organization  and 
military  discipline,  but  they  were  intelligent,  independent 
men,  accustomed  to  turn  their  hand  to  anything.  They 
could  shoot  and  they  could  also  dig.  They  were  able  to 
handle  the  spade  as  dexterously  and  effectively  as  the  rifle. 
It  was  well  for  them  that  they  could  do  so,  for  the  June 
night  was  short,  and  quick  work  was  vital.  Close  by  them 
along  the  river-front  lay  five  men-of-war  and  several  float 
ing  batteries,  all  within  gunshot.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
stream  the  British  sentinels  paced  up  and  down  the  shore. 
Prescott,  when  the  work  began,  sent  a  small  detachment 
under  Maxwell  to  patrol  Charlestown  and  guard  the  ferry. 
Twice  during  the  night  he  went  down  himself  to  the  edge 
of  the  water  and  listened  intently  to  catch  the  drowsy  cry 
of  "AlFs  well  "  from  the  watch  on  the  British  ships.  The 
work,  therefore,  had  to  be  not  only  quick  but  quiet,  and 
it  is  a  marvel  that  no  British  sentry,  and  still  more,  no 
sailor  on  the  men-of-war,  detected  the  movement  on  the 
hill  or  heard  the  click  of  the  spades  and  the  hum  and  stir 
of  a  thousand  men  toiling  as  they  never  toiled  before. 
But  the  Americans  labored  on  in  silence  under  the  sum 
mer  starlight,  faster  and  faster,  until  the  gray  dawn  began 
to  show  faintly  in  the  east.  When  the  light  came,  the 
sailors  on  the  nearest  sloop  suddenly  saw  that  intrench- 
ments  six  feet  high  had  sprung  up  in  the  night  and  were 
frowning  at  them  from  the  nearest  hill.  The  sight  of  the 
works  was  a  complete  surprise,  and  the  captain  of  the 
Lively,  without  waiting  for  orders,  opened  fire.  The 
sound  of  the  guns  roused  Boston.  British  officers  and 
townspeople  alike  rushed  out  to  see  what  had  happened. 
To  the  former  that  which  met  their  eyes  was  not  an  en- 


78  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

couraging  sight,  for  with  those  Charlestown  hills  fortified 
and  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  Boston  would  be  untenable 
and  they  would  be  forced  to  abandon  the  town.  Gage  at 
once  called  a  council  of  officers  and  they  determined  that 
the  works  on  Breed's  Hill  must  be  taken  immediately  and 
at  all  hazards,  and  the  Americans  driven  off.  Unwilling, 
on  account  of  Ward's  army  at  Cambridge,  to  land  on  the 
Neck,  which  had  been  left  practically  unguarded,  and  thus 
assail  the  redoubt  from  behind,  the  one  thing  of  all  others 
to  do,  and  thoroughly  despising  their  opponents,  of  whom 
they  knew  nothing,  they  decided  to  make  a  direct  attack 
in  front,  and  orders  went  forth  at  once  to  draw  out  the 
troops  and  transport  them  by  boats  to  Charlestown. 

Meantime  the  battery  on  Copp's  Hill  and  the  water- 
batteries  had  been  firing  on  the  American  works.  The 
fire,  however,  was  ineffective,  and  the  Americans  continued 
their  task  of  finishing  and  perfecting  their  intrenchments 
and  of  building  the  interior  platforms.  Made  in  such 
haste,  they  were  rude  defences  at  best,  but  all  that  could  be 
done  was  done.  At  first  when  a  private  was  killed  by  a 
cannon-ball  there  was  some  alarm  among  the  men  unac 
customed  to  artillery  fire,  and  Colonel  Prescott  therefore 
mounted  the  parapet  and  walked  slowly  up  and  down 
to  show  them  that  there  was  no  serious  danger.  The  sight 
of  that  tall,  soldierly  figure  standing  calmly  out  in  full  view 
of  the  enemy  gave  confidence  at  once,  and  there  were  no 
more  murmurs  of  alarm,  although  when  the  tide  was  at 
flood  some  of  the  war-ships  were  able  to  enfilade  the  re 
doubt  and  pour  in  a  better-directed  fire.  So  the  day  wore 
on  with  its  accompaniment  of  roaring  cannon,  the  Ameri 
cans  waiting  patiently  under  the  hot  sun,  tired  and  thirsty, 
but  ready  and  eager  to  fight. 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH 


79 


PRESCOTT  ON   THE  PARAPET  AT  BUNKER  HILL. 
The  sight  of  that  tall,  soldierly  figure  standing  calmly  out  in  full  view  of  the  enemy  gave  confidence  at  once. 

At  noon  the  British  troops  marched  through  the  streets 
of  Boston,  and  began  to  embark  under  cover  of  an  in 
creased  and  strongly  sustained  tire  from  the  ships  and  float 
ing  batteries.  By  one  o'clock  they  had  landed  in  good 
order  at  Moulton's  Point,  and  formed  in  three  lines.  Not 


8o  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

liking  the  looks  of  the  redoubt  now  that  he  was  near  to  it, 
General  Howe  sent  for  reinforcements,  and  while  he  waited 
for  them  his  men  dined.  Prescott,  too,  early  in  the  morn 
ing  had  sent  for  reinforcements,  and  the  news  that  the 
British  had  landed,  caused  a  great  stir  in  the  camp  at  Cam 
bridge,  but  owing  to  the  lack  of  organization  only  a  few 
fresh  troops  ever  reached  the  hill.  Some  leaders  arrived, 
like  Warren  and  Pomeroy  and  General  Putnam,  who  did 
admirable  service  throughout  the  day.  John  Stark  came 
over  with  his  New  Hampshire  company,  declining  to 
quicken  his  step  across  the  Neck,  which  was  swept  by  the 
British  fire,  and  brought  his  men  on  the  field  in  good  con 
dition.  But  with  some  few  exceptions  of  this  sort,  Pres 
cott  was  obliged  to  rely  entirely  on  the  small  detachment  he 
had  himself  led  there  the  night  before.  Seeing  a  move 
ment  on  the  part  of  the  British  which  made  him  believe 
that  they  were  going  to  try  to  turn  his  position  on  the  left, 
with  the  true  military  instinct  and  quick  decision  which  he 
displayed  throughout  the  day  Prescott  detached  Colonel 
Knowlton  with  the  Connecticut  troops  and  the  artillery  to 
oppose  the  enemy's  right  wing.  Knowlton  took  a  posi 
tion  near  the  base  of  the  hill,  behind  a  stone  fence  with  a 
rail  on  top.  In  front  he  hastily  built  another  fence  and 
filled  the  space  between  the  two  with  freshly  cut  grass  from 
the  meadow.  It  was  not  such  a  work  as  a  Vauban  would 
have  built,  or  foreign  military  experts  would  have  praised, 
but  the  Americans  of  that  day,  instead  of  criticising  it  be 
cause  it  was  not  on  the  approved  foreign  model,  made  the 
best  of  it  and  proceeded  to  use  it  to  good  purpose.  While 
Knowlton  was  thus  engaged  he  was  joined  by  Stark  and 
the  New  Hampshire  men,  and  with  their  aid  was  enabled 
to  extend  and  strengthen  his  line. 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      81 

At  last  the  forces  were  in  position.  The  long  hours  of 
quiet  waiting  in  the  burning  sun  were  drawing  to  an  end. 
The  British  forces  were  at  length  in  line,  and  soon  after 
three  o'clock  Howe  briefly  told  his  men  that  they  were  the 
finest  troops  in  the  world,  and  that  the  hill  must  be  taken. 
Then  he  gave  the  word,  and  under  cover  of  a  very  heavy 
fire  from  the  ships,  the  batteries,  and  the  artillery,  they 
began  to  advance,  marching  in  admirable  order  with  all 
the  glitter  and  show  of  highly  disciplined  troops.  They 
were  full  of  cheerful,  arrogant  confidence.  They  despised 
the  Provincials  and  looked  with  scorn  on  the  rude  works. 
They  had  been  taught  to  believe  also  that  the  Americans 
were  cowards.  Had  not  Lord  Sandwich  and  other  emi 
nent  persons,  whom  they  were  bound  to  credit,  told  them 
so  ?  They  expected  a  short,  sharp  rush,  a  straggling  fire, 
a  panic-stricken  retreat  of  the  enemy,  and  an  easy  victory 
to  celebrate  that  evening  in  Boston. 

Howe  led  the  attack  on  the  flank  in  person,  aiming  at 
the  rail  fence  and  the  collection  of  "  rustics,"  as  he  would 
have  called  them,  who  were  gathered  there.  General  Pigot 
led  the  assault  in  front  upon  the  redoubt  itself.  On  they 
marched,  very  fine  to  look  upon  in  their  brilliant  uniforms 
and  with  their  shining  arms.  Onward  still  they  went,  the 
artillery  booming  loudly  over  their  heads.  They  began  to 
draw  near  the  works  and  yet  the  enemy  gave  no  sign.  The 
sun  was  very  hot,  and  they  had  heavy  knapsacks  just  as  if 
they  were  going  on  a  march  instead  of  into  action,  which 
was  natural  from  their  point  of  view,  for  they  expected  no 
battle.  The  grass,  too,  was  very  long,  and  the  fences  were 
many.  It  was  harder  getting  at  the  Americans,  the  heat 
was  greater,  the  way  longer,  than  they  had  imagined,  but 
the-se  things  after  all  were  trifles,  and  they  would  soon  be 


82  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

on  the  rebels  now.  Still  all  was  silent  in  the  redoubts. 
They  came  within  gunshot.  There  were  a  few  straggling 
shots  from  the  fort,  quickly  suppressed,  and  it  looked  as  if 
the  officers  were  going  round  the  parapet  knocking  up  the 
guns.  What  could  it  all  mean  ?  Were  the  Provincials 
going  to  retreat  without  firing  at  all  ?  It  would  seem  that 
they  were  more  cowardly  than  even  the  liberal  estimate 
made  by  Lord  Sandwich  allowed.  Perhaps  most  of  them 
had  slipped  away  already.  In  any  event,  it  would  soon  be 
over.  On  then  fast,  for  it  was  well  within  gunshot  now. 
Forward  again  quickly,  and  the  separating  distance  is  only 
ten  or  twelve  rods.  Suddenly  they  heard  from  the  fort  the 
sharp  order  to  fire.  A  sheet  of  flame  sweeps  down  from 
the  redoubt.  It  is  a  deadly,  murderous  fire.  The  execu 
tion  is  terrible.  Officers  fall  in  all  directions.  The  British 
troops,  and  there  are  in  truth  no  finer  or  braver  in  the 
world,  return  the  fire  sharply,  but  not  well.  The  lines 
waver  and  gaps  open  everywhere  in  the  ranks.  Meantime 
the  fire  from  the  fort  continues,  steady,  rapid,  effective, 
evidently  aimed  by  marksmen  whose  nerves  are  in  good 
order. 

How  were  they  faring  meanwhile  at  the  rail  fence, 
where  General  Flowe  was  leading  his  men  in  person  ?  Not 
quite  so  silent  here.  The  two  little  American  field-pieces 
opened  effectively  as  the  British  advanced.  There  were 
some  straggling  shots  from  the  fence,  quickly  suppressed 
as  on  the  hill,  but  they  drew  the  fire  of  the  troops  who 
came  on,  firing  regularly  as  if  on  parade.  It  would  not 
take  long  to  dispose  of  this  flimsy  barrier.  On,  then,  and 
forward.  They  came  within  gunshot,  they  came  within  ten 
rods,  and  now  the  rail  fence  flamed  as  the  American  fire 
ran  down  the  line.  This,  too,  was  a  deadly  fire.  The  offi- 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      83 

cers  were  picked  off.  The  troops  began  to  break,  so  sav 
age  was  the  slaughter.  On  hill  and  meadow,  before  redoubt 
and  rail  fence,  the  British  columns  gave  way.  They  could 
not  stand  the  execution  that  was  being  done  upon  them. 
Pigot  ordered  a  retreat,  and  Howe's  men  broke  and  scat 
tered.  As  the  British  troops  recoiled  and  fell  back,  cut  up 
by  the  American  fire,  the  Americans  sprang  forward  with 
cheers  eager  to  pursue,  restrained  only  by  their  officers,  and 
shouting,  "  Are  the  Yankees  cowards  ?  "  Lord  Sandwich 
was  answered.  Whatever  the  final  result,  the  men  who 
had  met  and  repulsed  that  onslaught  were  not  cowards. 

General  Howe  soon  rallied  his  surprised  and  broken 
troops  and  formed  them  again  in  well-drawn  lines.  The 
British  then  set  fire  to  the  village  of  Charlestown,  a  per 
fectly  wanton  and  utterly  useless  performance,  as  the  wind 
carried  the  smoke  away  from  the  redoubt,  and  did  not  take 
possession  of  the  Neck,  which  would  have  thrown  the 
whole  American  force  on  the  hills  helplessly  into  their 
hands.  The  ships  then  renewed  their  bombardment  with 
increased  fury  ;  the  artillery  was  advanced  on  the  right, 
where  it  could  do  much  more  execution  upon  the  defenders 
of  the  rail  fence,  and  with  the  little  town  in  flames  on  their 
left,  the  British  moved  forward  to  a  second  assault.  They 
advanced  firing,  their  march  encumbered  now  not  only  by 
long  grass  and  fences,  but  by  the  bodies  of  their  comrades 
fallen  in  the  first  attack.  Their  fire  did  little  execution, 
for  they  aimed  too  high.  Still  they  moved  on  with  their  well- 
ordered  lines.  Again  the  redoubt  was  silent.  They  came 
within  gunshot,  within  ten  rods,  still  silence.  Now  they 
were  within  six  rods  and  now  came  again  that  sheet  of 
flame  and  the  deadly  fire.  This  time  they  were  not  taken 
by  surprise.  They  knew  now  that  there  were  men  behind 


84  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

those  rude  earthworks  who  could  and  would  shoot  straight, 
and  who  had  not  run  away  at  their  approach.  They  stag 
gered  under  the  shock  of  this  first  volley,  but  rallied  gal 
lantly  and  came  on.  Could  the  Americans  maintain  their 
ground  after  one  volley  ?  It  appeared  that  they  could. 
Colonel  Prescott  said  there  was  a  "continuous  stream  of 
fire  from  the  redoubt."  So  continuous,  so  rapid,  and  so 
steady  was  it,  that  the  British  never  got  across  the  short 
distance  which  remained.  They  struggled  bravely  forward, 
many  falling  within  a  few  yards  of  the  redoubt  and  on  the 
very  slopes  of  the  embankment.  Then  they  gave  way,  this 
time  in  confusion,  and  fled.  Some  ran  even  to  the  boats. 
It  was  the  same  at  the  rail  fence.  Despite  the  artillery 
playing  on  their  left,  the  Americans  stood  firm  and  poured 
in  their  fatal  volleys  when  the  enemy  came  within  the  pre 
scribed  line.  Howe's  officers  and  aides  fell  all  about  him, 
so  that  at  times  he  was  left  almost  alone,  a  gallant  figure  in 
the  thick  of  the  slaughter,  in  the  midst  of  dead  and  dying, 
his  silk  stockings  splashed  with  blood  and  still  calling  to 
his  soldiers  to  come  on.  The  men  who  shot  down  his  staff 
spared  him.  Perhaps  the  memory  of  the  equally  gallant 
brother  whom  they  had  followed  in  the  Old  French  War, 
and  a  monument  to  that  brother  placed  in  Westminster 
Abbey  by  the  province  of  Massachusetts,  turned  aside  the 
guns  which  could  have  picked  him  off  as  they  did  his  com 
panions  in  arms.  But  at  that  moment  no  personal  cour 
age  in  the  commander  could  hold  the  troops.  They  broke 
as  the  main  column  had  broken  on  Breed's  Hill  before  the 
sustained  and  fatal  fire  of  the  Americans,  and  swept  back 
ward  almost  in  a  panic  to  the  shore  and  the  boats. 

This  second  repulse  was  far  more  serious  both  in  losses 
and  in  moral  effect  than  the  first.     So  long  a  time  elapsed 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH 


before  the  British  moved  again  that  some  of  the  American 
officers  thought  that  the  enemy  would  not  try  the  works 
a  third  time.  The  interval 
of  delay,  however,  served 
only  to  disclose  the  inherent 
weakness  of  the  American 
position.  The  men  had  be 
haved  with  steady  courage, 
and  fought  most  admirably, 
but  they  were  entirely  un 
supported,  and  without  sup 
port  the  position  was  unten 
able  against  repeated  attacks 
from  a  superior  force,  and  a 
mere  trap  if  the  British  gen 
eral  had  had  the  intelligence 
to  seize  the  Neck.  The 
American  army  at  Cam 
bridge  had  no  real  military  organization,  the  general  was 
without  a  staff,  and,  though  a  brave  man,  was  unable  to  sup 
ply  the  deficiencies  by  his  own  energy  and  genius.  Prescott 
had  sent  early  in  the  day  for  reinforcements,  but  such  confu 
sion  prevailed  at  Cambridge  that  none  were  dispatched  to 
his  assistance  in  an  intelligent  and  effective  manner.  A 
number  of  companies,  indeed,  started  from  Cambridge  for 
Charlestown.  Some  turned  back,  unwilling  to  face  the 
fire  of  the  ships  which  swept  the  Neck.  Stark  came 
through,  as  has  been  said,  early  in  the  day,  and  did 
splendid  service  with  his  men  at  the  rail  fence ;  but  the 
others  for  the  most  part  never  came  into  action  at  all. 
Orders  were  disobeyed,  contradictory  commands  issued, 
and  men  straggled  away  from  their  regiments,  some  to 


GENERAL    WILLIAM  HOWE. 

an  engraving  after  fhe  portrait  by  Dodci,  May 
JJ,  1786. 


88  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

retreat,  some  to  join  in  desultory  and  independent  fight 
ing  from  outlying  positions.  Therefore,  despite  the  great 
efforts  of  some  of  the  officers,  and  especially  of  General 
Putnam,  such  men  as  really  succeeded  in  reaching  Charles- 
town  remained  in  confusion  on  Bunker  Hill  in  the  rear 
of  the  redoubt.  Even  worse  than  the  failure  to  support 
Prescott  with  troops,  which  was  due  to  lack  of  discipline 
and  leadership,  was  the  failure  to  send  him  ammunition. 
He  found  himself  forced  to  face  a  third  attack,  with 
no  fresh  soldiers,  but  only  his  own  men  who  had  been  dig 
ging  all  night  and  fighting  all  day,  and  with  scarcely  any 
powder.  Most  of  his  men  had  only  a  single  round,  none 
more  than  three,  and  they  broke  up  the  cartridges  of  the 
cannon  to  get  a  last  pitiful  supply.  With  the  shadow  of 
certain  defeat  upon  him,  Prescott  saw  the  British  prepare 
for  a  third  assault.  .  Howe,  not  without  difficulty,  had 
rallied  his  men  and  reformed  his  ranks,  while  a  reinforce 
ment  of  four  hundred  marines  had  landed  and  joined  him. 
He  also  had  learned  a  lesson,  and  had  found  out  that  he 
had  a  dangerous  enemy  before  him.  This  time  the 
British  soldiers  laid  aside  their  knapsacks,  and  advanced 
in  light  order.  This  time,  too,  only  a  feint  was  made  at 
the  rail  fence,  and  the  whole  attack,  as  well  as  the  artil 
lery  fire,  was  concentrated  on  the  redoubt.  Prescott  knew 
that  without  powder,  and  with  scarcely  any  bayonets,  he 
could  not  shatter  the  columns  before  they  reached  the 
breastworks,  nor  repel  an  enemy  capable  of  a  bayonet 
charge  once  they  had  reached  the  parapet.  Nevertheless, 
he  determined  to  stand  his  ground,  and  make  to  the  last 
the  best  fight  he  could.  The  British  moved  forward,  this 
time  in  silence.  "  Make  every  shot  tell,"  said  Prescott  to 
his  men,  and  when  the  British  were  within  twenty  yards 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      89 

the  Americans,  standing  their  ground  firmly  under  the 
artillery  fire,  poured  in  a  withering  volley.  The  British 
line  staggered,  but  came  on.  As  they  mounted  the  para 
pet  another  light  volley  did  even  more  execution,  but  it 
was  the  last.  The  American  powder  was  exhausted,  and 
the  Minute  Men  could  meet  the  bayonets  only  with 


JOSEPH  WARREN,  KILLED  AT  BUNKER  HILL. 

From  a  portrait  fainted  by  Copley  in  777^. 

clubbed  muskets.  It  was  a  useless  and  hopeless  waste  of 
life  to  contend  with  such  odds  under  such  conditions,  and 
Prescott  gave  the  word  to  retreat.  His  men  fell  back  from 
the  redoubt,  he  himself  going  last,  and  parrying  bayonet 
thrusts  with  his  sword.  Now  it  was  that  the  Americans 
suffered  most  severely,  and  that  Warren,  one  of  the  best 
beloved  of  the  popular  leaders,  was  killed.  Nevertheless, 
the  men  drew  off  steadily  and  without  panic.  The  brave 


90  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

troops  at  the  rail  fence  who  had  fought  so  well  all  day, 
checked  the  British  advance  and  covered  the  retreat  of  the 
main  body  under  Prescott ;  Andrew  McClary,  the  gallant 
major  of  the  New  Hampshire  company,  being  killed  as 
he  brought  off  his  men.  All  that  was  left  of  the  little 
American  band  retreated  in  good  order  across  the  Neck. 
They  were  not  pursued.  General  Clinton,  who  had  joined 
before  the  last  attack,  urged  Howe  to  follow  up  his  vic 
tory,  but  Howe  and  his  men  had  had  enough.  They  took 
possession  of  Bunker  Hill  with  fresh  reinforcements,  and 
contented  themselves  with  holding  what  they  had  gained, 
while  the  Americans  established  themselves  upon  the  hills 
on  the  other  side  of  Charlestown  Neck.  They  had  been 
driven  from  their  advanced  position,  but  one  great  result 
had  been  gained.  The  losses  had  been  so  severe  that  the 
British  plan  to  take  Dorchester  Heights  had  to  be  given 
up.  If  the  colonists  could  have  held  Breed's  Hill,  the 
British  would  have  been  compelled  to  abandon  Boston  at 
once ;  but  the  fact  that  they  failed  to  hold  it  did  not  give 
the  British  a  position  which  enabled  them  to  command 
the  American  lines,  or  to  prevent  a  close  siege  which 
would  ultimately  force  evacuation. 

Such  was  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  The  victory  was 
with  the  British,  for  they  took  the  contested  ground  and 
held  it.  But  the  defeat  of  Bunker  Hill  was  worth  many 
victories  to  the  Americans.  It  proved  to  them  that  Brit 
ish  troops  were  not  invincible,  as  they  had  been  so  confi 
dently  assured.  It  proved  their  own  fighting  capacity, 
and  gave  strength  and  heart  to  the  people  of  every  colony. 
Concord  and  Lexington  had  made  civil  war  inevitable. 
Bunker  Hill  showed  that  the  Revolution,  rightly  led,  was 
certain  to  succeed.  The  story  of  Bunker  Hill  battle  has 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      91 

been  told  in  prose  and  verse  many  times,  and  there  is 
nothing  to  be  added  to  the  facts,  but  there  was  a  meaning 
to  it  which  was  entirely  overlooked  at  the  moment,  and 
which  has  never  been  sufficiently  emphasized  since.  The 
fact  that  the  British  carried  the  hill  is  nothing,  for  they 
lost  thirteen  colonies  in  consequence.  But  it  is  in  the  sta 
tistics  of  the  battle  that  the  real  lesson  lay,  a  lesson  which 
showed  how  disastrous  a  day  it  really  had  been  for  the 
British  army,  and  which  if  taken  to  heart  by  the  Ministry, 
a  thing  quite  impossible  under  the  circumstances,  might 
have  led  even  then  to  peace  and  concession.  The  price 
paid  for  that  hill  on  June  17,  1775,  was  enormous,  without 
regard  to  more  remote  results.  Never  had  the  British 
troops  behaved  with  more  stubborn  bravery  ;  never  had 
they  been  more  ruthlessly  sacrificed,  and  never  up  to  that 
time  had  British  soldiers  faced  such  a  fire.  They  brought 
into  action  something  over  three  thousand  men,  and  not 
more  than  thirty-five  hundred.  The  official  British  returns 
give  the  killed  and  wounded  as  1,054.  The  Americans  in 
Boston  insisted  that  the  British  loss  reached  1,500,  but  let 
us  take  only  the  official  return  of  1,054.  That  means  that 
the  British  loss  was  a  trifle  over  thirty  per  cent.  The  sig 
nificance  of  these  figures  can  only  be  understood  by  a  few 
comparisons.  The  statistics  of  losses  in  Marlborough's 
battles  are  rough  and  inexact,  but  so  far  as  we  know  the 
allies  lost  at  Blenheim,  where  only  16,000  of  the  55,000 
were  British  troops,  about  twenty-five  per  cent.;  at  Ramil- 
lies  about  seven  per  cent.  ;  at  Malplaquet  less  than  twenty- 
five  percent;  at  Fontenoy,  where  the  Duke  of  Cumber 
land,  the  "  Martial  Boy,  sans  peur  et  sans  avis''  hurled 
the  British  force  at  the  centre  of  the  French  line  in  a 
charge  as  magnificent  and  desperate  as  it  was  wild  and 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

foolish,  there  were  28,000  English 
soldiers  in  the  army,  and  the  loss 
in  killed  and  wounded  was  some 
what  over  fourteen  per  cent.  Thus 
we  see  the  correctness  of  the  state 
ment  that  no  English  soldiers  had 
at  that  time  ever  faced  such  a  fire 
as  they  met  at  Bunker  Hill.  In 
later  times  the  British  loss  at  Wa 
terloo  was  nearly  thirty-four  per 
cent.,  and  the  loss  of  the  allied 
armies  about  fifteen  per  cent.;  while 
at  Gettysburg  the  Union  army  lost 
about  twenty -five  per  cent.,  and 
these  were  two  of  the  bloodiest  of 
modern  battles.  Waterloo  lasted  all 
day,  Gettysburg  three  days,  Bunker 
Hill,  an  hour  and  a  half.  At  Grave- 
lotte,  the  most  severe  battle  of  our 
own  time,  and  with  modern  weap 
ons,  the  German  loss  was  less  than 
fourteen  per  cent.  Take  another 
significant  feature  at  Bunker  Hill. 
One  hundred  and  fifty-seven  British 
officers  were  killed  or  wounded. 
\Vellington  had  four  hundred  and 
fifty-six  killed  or  wounded  at  Wa 
terloo.  If  the  Bunker  Hill  propor 
tion  had  been  maintained  he  should  have  lost  nine  hundred 
and  forty-two.  The  American  loss  was  less  than  the  British, , 
because  the  men  fought  from  behind  intrenchments,  and 
it  was  sustained  chiefly  in  the  last  hand-to-hand  struggle. 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  BUNKER 
HILL  MONUMENT  FROM 
COPPS  HILL  CEMETERY. 

On  this  hill  was  the  battery  which 
destroyed  the  town  of  Charlestoiun  dur 
ing  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill. 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      93 

Nevertheless,  it  was  very  severe.  At  different  times  the 
Americans  appear  to  have  had  in  Charlestown  between 
two  and  three  thousand  men,  but  Washington,  who  was 
most  accurate  and  had  careful  returns,  stated  that  they 
never  had  more  than  fifteen  hundred  men  engaged,  which 
agrees  with  the  best  estimates  that  can  be  now  made  of 
the  number  of  men  who  fought  at  the  redoubt  and  behind 
the  rail  fence.  The  American  loss  was,  from  the  best  re 
ports  available,  four  hundred  and  eleven  killed  and  wound 
ed,  at  least  twenty  per  cent,  of  the  whole  force  actually 
engaged. 

These  statistics  of  the  British  loss,  when  analyzed, 
show  the  gallantry  of  the  English  soldiers,  which  no  other 
race  at  that  time  could  have  equalled,  and  a  folly  on  the 
part  of  their  commanders  in  attempting  to  rush  an  earth 
work  held  by  such  opponents,  which  it  is  hard  to  realize. 
Yet  it  is  in  the  reasons  for  that  very  folly,  which  proved 
such  a  piece  of  good  fortune  to  Prescott  and  his  men,  that 
we  can  find  an  explanation  for  the  American  Revolution, 
and  for  the  disasters  to  the  British  arms  which  accom 
panied  it. 

Englishmen  generally  took  the  view  that  the  people 
of  the  American  Colonies  were  in  all  ways  inferior  to 
themselves,  and  particularly  in  fighting  capacity.  Lord 
Sandwich  was  not  exceptional  in  his  ignorance  when  he 
declared  that  the  Yankees  were  cowards.  Weight  was 
given  to  what  he  said  merely  because  he  happened  to  be 
a  peer,  but  his  views  were  shared  by  most  public  men  in 
England,  and  by  most  of  the  representatives  of  the  Eng 
lish  Crown  in  America,  both  military  and  civil.  The 
opinion  of  statesmen  like  Chatham,  Camden,  or  Burke, 
was  disregarded,  while  that  of  Lord  Sandwich  and  other 


94  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

persons  equally  unintelligent  was  accepted.  ^  It  was  this 
stupidity  and  lack  of  knowledge  which  gave  birth  to  the 
policy  that  resulted  in  colonial  resistance  to  the  Stamp 
Act,  and  later  to  the  assembling  of  the  first  Revolution 
ary  Congress.  It  seems  very  strange  that  intelligent  men 
should  have  had  such  ideas  in  regard  to  the  people  of  the 
American  Colonies,  when  the  slightest  reflection  would 
have  disclosed  to  them  the  truth.  The  men  of  New 
England,  against  whom  their  wrath  was  first  directed, 
were  of  almost  absolutely  pure  English  stock.  They  were 
descendants  of  the  Puritans,  and  of  the  men  who  followed 
Cromwell  and  formed  the  famous  army  which  he  led  to 
a  series  of  unbroken  victories.  Whatever  the  faults  of 
the  Puritans  may  have  been,  no  one  ever  doubted  their 
ability  in  public  affairs,  their  qualities  as  citizens,  or,  above 
all,  their  fighting  capacity.  In  the  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  years  which  had  elapsed  since  that  period, 
what  had  happened  to  make  their  descendants  in  the  New 
World  degenerate  ?  The  people  of  New  England  had 
made  a  hard  fight  to  establish  their  homes  in  the  wilder 
ness,  to  gather  subsistence,  and,  later,  wealth  from  an 
ungrateful  soil  and  from  the  stormy  seas  of  the  North 
Atlantic.  They  had  been  engaged  in  almost  constant 
warfare  with  the  Indians  and  French  and  had  formed  a 
large  part  of  the  armies  with  which  Pitt  had  wrested 
Canada  from  France.  Surely  there  was  nothing  in  all 
this  to  weaken  their  fibre  or  to  destroy  their  fighting 
qualities.  Frontiersmen  and  pioneers  whose  arms  were 
the  axe  and  the  rifle,  sturdy  farmers  and  hardy  fishermen 
from  the  older  settlements,  of  almost  pure  English  blood, 
with  a  small  infusion  of  Fluguenots  and  a  slight  mingling, 
chiefly  in  New  Hampshire,  of  Scotch-Irish  from  London- 


THE  REPLY  TO  LORD  SANDWICH      95 

deny,  were  not,  on  the  face  of  things,  likely  to  be  timid 
or  weak.  Yet  these  were  the  very  men  Lord  Sandwich 
and  the  Ministry,  and  England  generally,  set  down  as 
cowards,  who  would  run  like  sheep  before  the  British 
troops.  While  the  resistance  to  the  English  policy  of 
interference  was  confined  to  the  arena  of  debate  and  of 
parliamentary  opposition,  the  rulers  of  England  found 
the  representatives  of  these  American  people  to  be  good 
lawyers,  keen  politicians  and  statesmen,  able  to  frame 
state  papers  of  the  highest  merit.  Untaught,  however,  by 
the  controversy  of  words,  they  resorted  to  force ;  and 
when  the  British  generals,  on  the  morning  of  June  I7th, 
beheld  the  rude  earthworks  on  Breed's  Hill,  their  only 
feeling  was  one  of  scorn  for  the  men  who  had  raised  them, 
and  of  irritation  at  the  audacity  which  prompted  the  act. 
With  such  beliefs  they  undertook  to  march  up  to  the  re 
doubt  as  they  would  have  paraded  to  check  the  advance 
of  a  city  mob.  When  they  came  within  range  they  were 
met  by  a  fire  which,  in  accuracy  and  in  rapidity,  surpassed 
anything  they  had  ever  encountered.  As  they  fell  back 
broken  from  the  slopes  of  the  hill  their  one  feeling  was 
that  of  surprise.  Yet  all  that  had  happened  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  To  men  who  had  fought  in 
the  French  and  Indian  wars,  who  had  been  bred  on  the 
farm  and  fishing  smack,  who  were  accustomed  to  arms 
from  their  youth,  who,  with  a  single  bullet,  could  pick  off 
a  squirrel  from  the  top  of  the  highest  tree,  it  was  an  easy 
matter,  even  though  they  were  undisciplined,  to  face  the 
British  soldiers  and  cut  them  down  with  a  fire  so  accurate 
that  even  stubborn  British  courage  could  not  withstand 
it.  Contempt  for  all  persons  not  living  in  England, 
and  profound  ignorance  of  all  people  but  their  own,  were 


96  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  reasons  for  the  merciless  slaughter  which  came  upon 
the  British  soldiers  at  the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill.  The 
lesson  of  that  day  was  wasted  upon  England,  because  in 
sular  contempt  for  every  other  people  on  earth,  even  if 
they  are  kith  and  kin,  is  hard  to  overcome.  It  was,  how 
ever,  a  good  beginning,  and  the  lesson  \vas  ultimately 
learned,  for  the  same  ignorance  and  contempt  which  led 
to  the  reckless  charges  against  the  Charlestown  earth 
works  dictated  the  policy  and  sustained  the  war  which 
cost  England  the  surrender  of  two  armies  and  the  loss  of 
thirteen  great  colonies.  Perfect  satisfaction  with  one's 
self,  coupled  with  a  profound  ignorance  and  openly  ex 
pressed  contempt  in  regard  to  other  people,  no  doubt  tend 
to  comfort  in  life,  but  they  sometimes  prove  to  be  luxur 
ies  which  it  is  expensive  to  indulge  in  too  freely. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    SIEGE    OF    BOSTON 

BUNKER  HILL  revealed  at  once  the  strength 
and  weakness  of  the  Americans.  At  Bunker 
Hill,  as  at  Concord  and  Lexington,  it  was  the 
people  who  had  risen  up  and  fought,  just  as  fifteen  years 
later  it  was  the  people  of  France  who  rose  up  and  defied 
Europe,  unchaining  a  new  force  which  the  rulers  of 
Europe  despised  until  it  crushed  them.  So  England  de 
spised  her  colonists,  and  when  they  turned  against  her 
they  started  the  great  democratic  movement  and  let  loose 
against  the  mother-country  a  new  force,  that  of  a  whole 
people  ready  to  do  battle  for  their  rights.  The  power 
which  this  new  force  had  and  the  native  fighting  qualities 
of  the  American  soldiers  were  vividly  shown  at  Bunker 
Hill,  and  there,  too,  was  exhibited  its  weakness.  The 
popular  army  was  unorganized,  divided  into  separate 
bands  quite  independent  of  each  other,  undisciplined,  and 
unled.  Hence  the  ultimate  defeat  which  prevision,  organ 
ization,  and  tenacity  of  purpose  would  have  so  easily  pre 
vented.  What  the  people  could  do  fighting  for  them 
selves  and  their  own  rights  was  plain.  Equally  plain  was 
the  point  where  they  failed.  Could  they  redeem  this 
failure  and  eradicate  the  cause  of  it  ?  Could  the  popular 
force  be  organized,  disciplined,  trained,  and  made  subor- 

97 


98  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

dinate  to  a  single  purpose  ?  In  other  words,  could  it 
produce  a  leader,  recognize  him  when  found,  concentrate 
in  him  all  the  power  and  meaning  it  had,  rise  out  of 
anarchy  and  chaos  into  order  and  light,  and  follow  one 
man  through  victory  and  defeat  to  ultimate  triumph  ? 
These  were  the  really  great  questions  before  the  American 
people  when  the  smoke  had  cleared  and  the  bodies  had 
been  borne  away  from  the  slopes  of  Breed's  Hill. 

In  such  a  time  few  men  look  below  the  surface  of 
events  and  the  actors  in  it  must  deal  with  the  hard,  insist 
ent  facts  which  press  close  against  them.  No  one  realized 
that  the  American  people  had  been  brought  suddenly  to  a 
harder  trial  than  facing  British  bayonets.  No  one  under 
stood  at  the  moment  that  it  must  quickly  be  determined 
whether  the  popular  movement  was  able  to  bring  forth  a 
leader,  and  then  submit  to  and  obey  him,  or  whether  after 
an  outburst  of  brave  fighting  it  was  to  fall  back  into 
weakness,  confusion,  and  defeat. 

Yet  this  mighty  question  was  upon  them,  and  even 
while  they  were  still  counting  their  dead  in  Boston  and 
Cambridge,  the  leader  was  on  his  way  to  put  his  fortune, 
which  was  that  of  the  American  Revolution,  to  the  test. 
On  June  2ist  Washington  started  from  Philadelphia.  He 
had  ridden  barely  twenty  miles  when  he  met  the  messen 
gers  from  Bunker  Hill.  There  had  been  a  battle,  they  said. 
He  asked  but  one  question,  "  Did  the  militia  fight?" 
When  told  how  they  had  fought,  he  said,  "  Then  the  liber 
ties  of  the  country  are  safe,"  and  rode  on.  Give  him  men 
who  would  fight  and  he  would  do  the  rest.  Here  was  a 
leader  clearly  marked  out.  Would  the  people  risen  up  in 
war  recognize  the  great  fact  and  acknowledge  it  ? 

A   pause   in    New    York   long   enough    to   put   Philip 


THE   SIEGE  OF   BOSTON 


99 


WASHINGTON   TAKING   COMMAND   OF  THE  ARMY. 

On  July  3,  7775,  at  about  nine  in  the  morning;  Washington,  with  several  of  the  general  officers,  went  on  foot 
(not  mounted,  as  he  is  often  represented)  to  the  elrn  still  standing  by  the  edge  of  Cambridge  Common,  and  there 
said  a  few  words  to  the  assembled  troops,  drew  his  sword  and  took  command  of  the  Continental  Army. 

Schuyler  in  charge  of  military  affairs  in  that  colony,  and 
Washington  pushed  on  through  Connecticut.  On  July  2d 
he  was  at  Watertown,  where  he  met.  the  Provincial  Con- 
gress  of  Massachusetts.  An  hour  later,  being  little  given 


TOO  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

to  talk,  he  rode  on  to  Cambridge  and  reached  headquar 
ters.  The  next  day  the  troops  were  all  drawn  out  on 
parade,  and  in  their  presence,  and  that  of  a  great  con 
course,  Washington  drew  his  sword  and  formally  took 
command  of  the  American  army.  The  act  performed, 
cheers  and  shouts  broke  forth,  and  the  booming  of  cannon 
told  the  story  to  the  enemy  in  Boston.  The  people  were 
evidently  with  him.  They  looked  upon  him  as  he  rode 
down  the  lines  and  were  content.  The  popular  movement 
had  found  its  leader,  and  the  popular  instinct  recognized 
him.  Yet  Washington  came  to  the  men  of  New  England 
a  stranger.  They  were  very  different  from  him  in  thought, 
in  habits,  and  in  modes  of  life,  and  like  all  strong  people 
they  were  set  in  their  own  ways  and  disposed  to  be  sus 
picious  of  those  of  others.  But  these  men  of  New  Eng 
land  none  the  less  gave  their  entire  confidence  to  Wash 
ington  at  once  and  never  withdrew  it.  As  General  in  the 
field,  and  later  as  President,  he  always  had  the  loyal  sup 
port  of  these  reserved,  hard-headed,  and  somewhat  cold, 
people.  They  recognized  him  as  a  leader  that  morning 
on  Cambridge  Common,  for  there  was  that  in  his  look  and 
manner  which  impressed  those  who  looked  upon  him  with 
a  sense  of  power.  He  was  a  man  to  be  trusted  and  fol 
lowed,  and  the  keen  intelligence  of  New  England  grasped 
the  fact  at  the  first  glance. 

Washington  did  not  understand  them  quite  as  quickly 
as  they  understood  him,  for  with  the  people  it  was  an  in 
stinct,  while  with  him  understanding  came  from  experience, 
At  first,  too,  it  was  a  rough  experience.     He  found  his  new 
soldiers  independent  in  their  \vays,  as  unaccustomed  to  dis 
cipline  as  they  were  averse  to  it,  electing  and  deposing  theii 
officers,  disposed  to  insubordination,  and  only  too  ready  t( 


THE   SIEGE   OF   BOSTON 


101 


go  off  in  order  to  attend  to  their  domestic  affairs,  and  return 
in  leisurely  fashion  when  their  business  was  done.  To  a  sol 
dier  like  Washington  this  was  all  intolerable,  and  he  wrote 
and  said  many  severe  things  about  them,  no  doubt  accom 
panying  his  words  sometimes  when  he  spoke  with  out- 


VICINITY  OF  THE    WASHINGTON  ELM,   CAMBRIDGE,  AT  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

In  the  background,  enclosed  by  a.  fence  and  tvtth  a  tablet  marking  it  in  front,  is  the  historic   tree  under  -which 
Washington  took  command  of  the  army. 

bursts  of  wrath  before  which  the  boldest  shrank.  The  of 
ficers  and  contractors  troubled  him  even  more  than  the 
men,  for  he  found  them  hard  'bargainers,  sharp,  and,  as  it 
often  seemed  to  him,  utterly  selfish.  He  dealt  with  these 
evils  in  the  effective  and  rapid  way  with  which  he  always 
met  such  difficulties.  In  his  own  plain  language  he  made 


102  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ua  good  slam"  among  the  wrong-doers  and  the  faint 
hearted.  He  broke  several  officers,  put  others  under  ar 
rest,  and  swiftly  changed  the  whole  tone  of  the  army.  He 
had  less  trouble  with  the  rank  and  file  than  with  the  of 
ficers,  but  all  soon  came  straight,  the  criticisms  of  his 
troops  disappear  from  his  letters,  and  six  months  later  he 
praises  them  in  high  terms.  He  entered  on  the  war  with 
an  army  composed  wholly  of  New  England  men.  He 
ended  the  revolution  with  an  army,  after  seven  years'  fight 
ing,  largely  made  up  from  the  same  New  England  people, 
and  then  it  was  that  he  said  that  there  were  no  better 
troops  in  the  world.  The  faults  which  annoyed  him  so 
much  at  the  outset  had  long  since  vanished  under  his 
leadership,  and  the  fine  qualities  of  the  men,  their  cour 
age,  intelligence,  endurance,  and  grim  tenacity  of  purpose 
had  become  predominant. 

Washington,  a  great  commander,  had  the  genius  for 
getting  all  that  was  best  out  of  the  men  under  him,  but 
the  work  of  organizing  and  disciplining  the  army  at  Cam 
bridge  was  the  least  of  the  troubles  which  confronted  him 
when  he  faced  the  situation  at  Boston.  Moreover,  he 
knew  all  the  difficulties,  for  he  not  only  saw  them,  but  he 
was  never  under  delusions  as  to  either  pleasant  or  disagree 
able  facts.  One  of  his  greatest  qualities  was  his  absolute 
veracity  of  mind  ;  he  always  looked  a  fact  of  any  sort 
squarely  in  the  face,  and  this  is  what  he  saw  when  he  turned 
to  the  task  before  him.  The  town  of  Boston,  the  richest, 
and  next  to  Philadelphia  the  most  populous  in  the  colonies, 
was  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  who  had  some  twelve 
thousand  regular  troops,  well  armed,  perfectly  disciplined, 
and  thoroughly  supplied  with  every  munition  of  war.  This 
well-equipped  force  had  command  of  the  sea,  and  how 


THE   SIEGE   OF   BOSTON  103 

much  the  sea-power  meant,  Washington  understood  thor 
oughly.  He  knew  with  his  broad  grasp  of  mind  what  no 
one  else  appreciated  at  all,  that  in  the  sea-power  was  the 
key  of  the  problem  and  the  strength  of  the  English.  That 
gone,  all  would  be  easy.  While  England  commanded  the 
sea  the  struggle  was  certain  to  be  long  and  doubtful.  All 
the  later  years  of  the  war,  indeed,  were  devoted  by  Wash 
ington  to  a  combination  by  which  through  the  French  al 
liance  he  could  get  a  sea-control.  When  he  obtained  it,  he 
swept  the  chief  British  army  out  of  existence,  and  ended 
the  war.  But  here  at  the  start  at  Boston  the  enemy  had 
control  of  the  sea,  and  there  was  no  way  of  getting  it  from 
them.  The  set  task  of  driving  the  British  out  of  Boston 
must  be  performed,  therefore,  while  they  commanded  the 
sea,  and  had  a  powerful  fleet  at  their  backs.  What  means 
did  Washington  have  to  accomplish  this  formidable  under 
taking  ?  An  unorganized  army  of  raw  men,  brave  and 
ready  to  fight,  but  imperfectly  armed,  and  still  more  im 
perfectly  disciplined.  The  first  thing  that  Washington  did 
on  taking  command  was  to  count  his  soldiers,  and  at  the 
end  of  eight  days  he  had  a  complete  return,  which  he 
should  have  obtained  in  an  hour,  and  that  return  showed 
him  fourteen  thousand  men  instead  of  the  twenty  thousand 
he  had  been  promised.  What  a  task  it  was  to  drive  from 
Boston  twelve  thousand  regular  troops,  supported  by  a 
fleet ;  and  only  fourteen  thousand  militia  to  do  it  with. 
How  could  it  be  done  ?  Not  by  a  popular  uprising,  for 
uprisings  do  not  hold  out  for  months  with  patient  endur 
ance  and  steady  pushing  toward  a  distant  aim.  No,  this 
was  work  that  must  be  done  by  one  man,  embodying  and 
leading,  it  is  true,  the  great  popular  force  which  had  started 
into  life,  but  still  one  man.  It  was  for  George  Washing- 


104  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ton,  with  such  means  as  he  had  or  could  create,  to  take  the 
town,  and  the  story  of  the  siege  of  Boston  is  simply  the 
story  of  how  he  did  it. 

Very  rapidly  discipline  improved,  and  the  militia  took 
on  the  ways  and  habits  of  a  regular  army.  The  lines  were 
extended  and  every  strategic  point  covered,  so  that  in  a 
short  time  it  was  really  impossible  for  the  enemy  to  get 
out  except  by  a  pitched  battle  fought  at  great  disadvan 
tage.  Observers  in  the  army  and  on  the  spot  could  not 
explain  just  how  this  was  all  brought  about,  but  they  knew 
what  was  done,  and  they  saw  the  new  general  on  the  lines 
every  day.  By  the  end  of  July  the  army  was  in  good  form, 
ready  to  fight  and  to  hold  their  works.  Then  it  was  sud 
denly  discovered  that  there  was  no  gunpowder  in  the  camp. 
An  extensive  line  of  works  to  be  defended,  a  well-furnished 
regular  army  to  be  besieged,  and  only  nine  rounds  of  am 
munition  per  man  to  do  it  with.  There  could  hardly  have 
been  a  worse  situation,  for  if  under  such  conditions  the 
enemy  were  to  make  a  well-supported  sally,  they  could  only 
be  resisted  for  a  few  minutes  at  most.  Washington  faced 
the  peril  in  silence  and  without  wavering.  Hard-riding 
couriers  were  despatched  all  over  the  country  to  every  vil 
lage  and  town  to  ask  for,  and,  if  need  be,  seize  powder.  A 
vessel  was  even  sent  to  the  Bermudas,  where  it  was  re 
ported  some  gunpowder  was  to  be  had.  By  these  desper 
ate  efforts  enough  powder  was  obtained  to  relieve  the 
immediate  strain,  but  all  through  the  winter  the  supply 
continued  to  be  dangerously  low. 

The  anxieties  and  labors  of  the  army  and  the  siege  were 
enough  to  tax  the  strongest  will  and  the  keenest  brain  to 
the  utmost,  and  yet  Washington  was  obliged  to  carry  at 
the  same  time  all  the  responsibility  for  military  operations 


y^>. 


By    the     KING, 

PROCLAMATION, 

For  fupprdfing  Rebellion  and  Sedition* 


G  K    R. 

:  I  REAS  many  of  Our  Subjcfts  in  divers  Parts  of  Our  Colonies  and  P  Untations 
„  Nvth  A,n*ric«,  milled  by  dangerous  and  ill-dcfigmng  Men,  and  torgetung 
,e  Allegiance  which  they  owe  to  the  Power  that  has  protefted  and  id  u,nc3 


^   Execution  of  the '  Law,  and  traitoro: -l1/   P^^^^ 

IIS§iS3§flii.??ils^ 


Abettors  at 


Defigns. 


nt  the  Authors,  Perpetrators,  ana  ADCI 

.„  at  Our  Court  at  St.  >W.,  the  Twenty-third  Day  of  ^g*/,    One    thouftnJ 
•hundred  and  feventy-five    in  the  Fifteenth  Year  of  Our  Re.gn 


God    fave    the    King. 


by  ««r/« 


«  and 


LONDON: 

Mam  Strahan,  .Printers  to  the  King's  mud  Excelks-t  M..M 


A    PROCLAMATION  BY  KING   GEORGE  III.,  AUGUST,  i?7S- 

,  one  of  the  original  broadsides  in  Dr.  J-mmet's  collection  no™  in  the  Lenox  Library. 


io6  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

everywhere.  He  was  watching  Johnson  and  his  Indians 
in  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk,  and  Try  on  and  the  Tories  in 
New  York.  He  was  urged  to  send  troops  to  this  plaee 
and  that,  and  he  had  to  consider  every  demand  and  say 
"  no  "  as  he  did  to  Connecticut  and  Long  Island  when  he 
thought  that  the  great  objects  of  his  campaign  would  be 
injured  by  such  a  diversion.  At  the  same  time  he  planned 
and  sent  out  expeditions  aimed  at  a  distant  but  really  vital 
point  which  showed  how  he  grasped  the  whole  situation, 
and  how  true  his  military  conceptions  were.  He  saw  that 
one  of  the  essential  parts  of  his  problem  was  to  prevent  in 
vasion  from  the  north,  and  that  this  could  be  done  best  by 
taking  possession  of  Canada.  Success  in  this  direction  was 
possible,  if  at  all,  only  by  an  extremely  quick  and  early 
movement,  for  in  a  very  short  time  the  British  would  be 
so  strong  in  the  valley  of  the  St.  Lawrence  that  any  at 
tempt  on  their  positions  would  be  quite  hopeless.  He 
therefore  sent  one  expedition  under  Montgomery  by  Lake 
Champlain  to  Montreal,  and  another  under  Arnold  through 
Maine  to  meet  the  Ne\v  York  forces  at  Quebec.  Mont 
gomery  met  with  entire  success.  He  passed  up  the  lake, 
after  a  siege  took  St.  Johns,  and  then  pressed  on  to  Mon 
treal,  which  he  captured  without  difficulty.  Meantime 
Arnold,  with  some  eleven  hundred  men,  was  making  his 
desperate  march  through  the  forests  of  Maine.  Even  now 
a  large  part  of  his  route  is  still  a  wilderness.  He  encoun 
tered  every  obstacle  and  hardship  that  it  is  possible  to  con 
ceive —  hunger,  cold,  exposure,  terrible  marches  through 
primeval  woods,  voyages  down  turbulent  streams,  where 
boats  were  sunk  and  upset  with  the  drowning  of  men  and 
loss  of  provisions  and  munitions.  Still  Arnold  kept  on 
with  the  reckless  daring  and  indomitable  spirit  so  charac- 


THE  SIEGE   OF   BOSTON 


107 


teristic  of  the  man.  With  a  sadly  diminished  force  he  came 
out  at  last  in  the  open  country,  and  after  a  short  rest  pushed 
on  to  the  St.  Lawrence.  When  he  reached  Point  Levi, 
opposite  Quebec,  there  was  no  Montgomery  to  meet  him. 
Nevertheless  he  crossed  the  river,  but  his  force  was  too  small 


CAPE   DIAMOND  AND    THE 
CITADEL,    QUEBEC. 

At  a  narrow  point  tinder  Cape  Dia 
mond,  Montgomery,  who  7uas  leading 
thejirst  division  in  the  attack  on  Que 
bec,  -was  killed. 


\ 


to  attack,  and  he  withdrew.  Meantime  Burr,  disguised  as  a 
priest,  reached  Montreal  from  Quebec,  and  Montgomery 
came  down  the  river  and  joined  Arnold,  but  only  with  some 
three  hundred  men.  It  was  now  December  and  a  Canadian 
winter  was  upon  them.  Nevertheless,  the  united  forces,  to 
the  number  of  a  thousand,  made  a  desperate  attack  upon  the 


108 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


TABLET    ON    THE    ROCKS    OF    CAPE    DIA-  \ 

MOND      BEARING      THE      INSCRIPTION 
"MONTGOMERY  FELL,  DEC'R  31,  1775." 

city.  Montgomery  was  killed  in  the  assault,  and  his  men 
repulsed.  Arnold  penetrated  into  the  city,  was  badly 
wounded,  and  forced  to  leave  the  field.  Carleton,  enabled 
by  the  defeat  of  Montgomery  to  concentrate  his  defence, 
forced  Morgan,  who  had  succeeded  to  the  command  after 
some  desperate  fighting  in  the  streets,  to  surrender.  This 
was  really  the  end  of  the  attempt  on  Canada,  despite  the 
fact  that  Arnold,  with  only  five  hundred  men,  held  Carle- 
ton  besieged  in  Quebec  all  winter.  But  although  new 


THE   SIEGE   OF   BOSTON 


109 


generals  came,  and  in  the  spring  Washington  at  great  risk 
detached  reinforcements  from  his  own  army  to  aid  the  men 
in  the  north,  on  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  in  the  river  the 
Americans  were  compelled  to  withdraw  from  Quebec  and 
later  from  Montreal.  The  attempt  had  failed,  the  north 
and  the  valley  of  the  St.  Lawrence  remained  open  to  Eng 
land,  and  Canada  was  lost  to  the  Americans.  It  was  a 
well-conceived,  boldly  planned  expedition,  defeated  by  a 
series  of  unforeseen  obstacles  here,  and  a  little 
delay  there  ;  but  its  failure  was  very  fruitful  of 
consequences,  both  near  and  remote,  ; 

just  as  its  success  would  have  been  in 
another  direction. 

Planning    and    carrying 
on  bold   schemes,   like   this 
against     Canada,    was     far 
more  to  Washington's  taste 
than  the  grinding,  harass 
ing  work  of    slowly  or 
ganizing   an    army,    and 
without     proper 
material     pressing 
siege-  operations. 
Still  he  kept  every 
thing  well  in  hand. 
He    chafed    under 
the    delays  of  the 
work    at    Boston  ; 
he    knew    that    at 
this  juncture  time 
helped    England, 
and  he  wanted  to 


THE  MONUMENT  TO  MONTGOMERY,   ST.  PAUL'S 
CHURCH,    NEW   YORK  CITY. 


Erected  by  the  order  of  Congress,  Ja 


ry  25,  1776. 


no          THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

make  the  fullest  use  of  the  first  energy  of  the  popular  en 
thusiasm.  Early  in  September  he  proposed  an  attack  on 
Boston  by  boats  and  along  Roxbury  Neck,  and  a  little 
later  another  of  similar  character.  In  both  cases  his  coun 
cil  of  officers  went  against  him,  and  he  had  not  reached  that 
point  of  discipline  where  he  could  afford  to  disregard  them 
and  follow  his  own  opinion  alone,  as  he  so  often  did  after 
ward. 

Councils  of  officers,  however,  were  not  his  only  trouble 
or  hindrance.  Congress  wanted  speed  ;  while  his  officers 
thought  him  rash,  Congress  thought  him  slow,  and  de 
manded  the  impossible.  They  wondered  why  he  did  not 
at  once  secure  the  harbor  without  ships,  and  urged  him  to 
set  up  batteries  and  open  on  the  town  when  he  had  neither 
siege-guns  nor  powder.  Congress  had  to  be  managed,  and 
so  did  the  Provincial  Congresses,  each  unreasonable  in  its 
own  way,  and  from  them,  moreover,  he  was  compelled  to 
procure  money  and  supplies  and  men.  With  infinite  tact 
and  patience  he  succeeded  with  them  all.  Enlistments  ex 
pired,  and  he  was  obliged  to  lose  his  old  army  and  replace  it 
with  a  new  one — not  a  pleasant  or  easy  undertaking  in  the 
presence  of  the  enemy  and  in  the  midst  of  a  New  England 
winter.  But  it  was  done.  Privateers  began  to  appear,  and 
rendered  great  service  by  their  attacks  on  the  enemy's  com 
merce.  They  brought  in  many  valuable  prizes,  and  Wash 
ington  had  to  be  a  naval  department,  and,  in  a  measure,  an 
admiralty  court.  Again  the  work  was  done.  Gage  treated 
American  prisoners  badly.  With  dignity,  firmness,  and  a 
good  deal  of  stern  vigor,  Washington  brought  him  to 
terms  and  taught  him  a  much-needed  lesson  both  in  hu 
manity  and  manners. 

So  the  winter  wore  on.      Unable  to  attack,  and  with  no 


THE  ATTACK  ON  QUEBEC. 
The  Second  Division,  under  Arnold,  attacking.     Arnold, ivho  led  this  part  of  the  attack,  • 


tfletely 


THE  SIEGE  OF   BOSTON  113 

material  for  siege-operations,  he  could  only  hold  the  Brit 
ish  where  they  were  and  make  their  situation  difficult  by 
cutting  off  all  supplies  by  land  with  his  troops,  and  by 
water  with  his  privateers.  It  was  dreary  work,  and  no  real 
advance  seemed  to  be  made,  until  in  February  the  well-di 
rected  efforts  began  to  tell  and  light  at  last  began  to  break. 
Powder  by  great  diligence  had  been  gathered  from  every 
corner,  and  the  Americans  now  had  it  in  sufficient  quantity 
to  justify  attack.  Henry  Knox,  sent  to  Ticonderoga,  had 
brought  thence  on  sledges  over  the  snow  the  cannon  cap 
tured  by  Ethan  Allen  that  memorable  May  morning.  Thus 
supplied,  Washington  determined  to  move.  His  first  plan 
was  to  cross  the  ice  with  his  army  and  storm  the  city.  This 
suited  his  temperament,  and  also  was  the  shortest  way,  as 
well  as  the  one  which  would  be  most  destructive  and  ruin 
ous  to  the  enemy.  Again,  however,  the  officers  protested. 
They  prevented  the  crossing  on  the  ice,  but  they  could  no 
longer  hold  back  their  chief.  If  he  could  not  go  across  the 
ice,  then  he  would  go  by  land,  but  attack  he  would.  On 
the  evening  of  Monday,  March  4th,  under  cover  of  a  heavy 
bombardment,  he  marched  a  large  body  of  troops  to  Dor 
chester  Heights,  and  began  to  throw  up  redoubts.  All  night 
long  Washington  rode  up  and  down  the  lines  encouraging 
his  men  and  urging  them  to  work.  He  knew  them  now, 
they  had  always  believed  in  him,  and  under  such  leadership 
and  with  such  men,  the  works  grew  rapidly.  When  morn 
ing  broke  there  was,  as  on  June  i  7th,  great  stir  and  excite 
ment  in  Boston,  and  it  was  plain  that  the  British  meant  to 
come  out  and  attack.  Washington's  spirits  rose  at  the 
prospect.  He  had  had  enough  of  siege-work,  and  was 
eager  to  fight.  Meantime  his  men  worked  on  hard  and 
fast.  The  British  troops  made  ready,  but  a  gale  came  up 


H4          THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

and  tney  could  not  cross  the  bay.  The  next  day  there  was 
a  storm  and  heavy  rain.  The  next  day  it  was  too  late  ;  the 
works  were  too  strong  to  be  attempted  successfully.  Then 
the  Ticonderoga  guns  began  to  send  shot  and  shell  into 
Boston,  and  parleys  were  opened.  Howe,  through  the 
selectmen,  promised  to  evacuate  if  not  molested,  but  if  at 
tacked  declared  that  he  would  burn  the  town.  Washing 
ton  assented  to  this  proposition,  but  still  Howe  delayed, 
and  Washington,  not  fond  of  delays  or  uncertainties,  ad 
vanced  his  works.  The  hint  was  enough,  and  on  March 
1 7th,  amid  disorder  and  pillage,  leaving  cannon  and  much 
else  behind,  eleven  thousand  British  troops  with  about  a 
thousand  Boston  Tories  went  on  board  the  fleet,  while 
\Vashington  marched  in  at  the  other  end  of  the  town.  The 
fleet  lingered  at  the  entrance  to  the  harbor,  closely  watched 
by  Washington,  for  a  few  days,  and  then  sailed  away  to 
Halifax. 

The  victory  was  won.  Boston  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
Americans,  and  so  remained.  Except  for  raids  here  and 
there,  and  an  attack  on  Newport,  the  war  in  New  England 
was  over,  and  those  colonies,  the  richest  and  most  populous, 
with  their  long  coast-line  and  ample  harbors,  were  set  free 
to  give  all  their  strength  to  the  general  cause  without  being 
held  back  or  distracted  by  fighting  for  their  own  firesides. 
To  have  driven  the  British  from  New  England  and  from 
her  capital  city  in  this  complete  and  rapid  fashion,  was  not 
only  a  victory,  but  an  achievement  of  immense  importance 
toward  the  ultimate  success  of  the  Revolution. 

It  was,  moreover,  in  a  purely  military  way,  a  very  re 
markable  feat  of  arms.  We  cannot  improve  on  Washing 
ton's  own  statement,  simple,  concise,  and  sufficient  as  his 
statements  always  are.  "To  maintain,"  he  said,  "a  post 


THE   SIEGE   OF   BOSTON  115 

within  musket-shot  of  the  enemy  for  six  months  together 
without  powder,  and  at  the  same  time  to  disband  one  army 
and  recruit  another  within  that  distance  of  twenty  odd 
British  regiments  is  more,  probably,  than  was  ever  at 
tempted."  It  was  in  truth  a  daring  attempt,  and  the  suc 
cess  was  extraordinary.  The  beginning  came  from  the 
armed  people  of  the  colonies.  The  final  victory  was  won 
by  the  genius  of  Washington,  whom  the  people  had  the 
wisdom  to  obey  and  the  sense  and  strength  to  follow. 

The  Americans  outnumbered  the  British,  but  not  more 
than  in  the  proportion  of  three  to  two,  and  this  was  little 
enough,  as  they  had  to  hold  the  outer  and  besieging  line. 
They  were  inferior  to  their  opponents  in  discipline,  equip 
ment,  organization,  experience,  and,  worst  of  all,  they  had 
no  sea-power  whatever.  All  English  soldiers  were  brave, 
and  there  could  be  no  question  about  the  unflinching  cour 
age  of  the  men  who  had  stormed  the  works  at  Bunker  Hill. 
How  was  it  then  that  with  all  the  odds  in  their  favor,  when 
they  should  have  broken  the  American  lines  and  defeated 
the  American  army  again  and  again,  how  was  it  that  they 
were  taken  in  an  iron  grip,  held  fast  all  winter,  reduced  to 
great  straits,  and  finally  driven  ignominiously  from  the  town 
they  held  by  the  army  and  the  general  they  despised  ?  The 
answer  is  really  simple,  difficult  as  the  question  seems  on 
the  face.  The  American  troops  were  of  just  as  good  fight 
ing  quality  as  the  British,  and  they  were  led  by  a  great 
soldier,  one  of  the  great  soldiers,  as  events  showed,  of  the 
century.  The  British  were  commanded  by  some  physically 
brave  gentlemen  of  good  family  and  slender  intellect. 
Such  men  as  these  had  no  chance  against  a  general  like 
Washington  so  long  as  he  had  men  who  would  fight  and 
enough  gunpowder  for  his  cannon  and  muskets.  He 


ii6          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

closed  in  on  them,  using  to  the  utmost  his  inferior  re 
sources,  and  finally  had  them  in  so  tight  a  grip  that  there 
was  nothing  for  them  but  flight  or  a  bloody  defeat  in  the 
streets  of  a  burning  town.  It  was  neither  by  accident  nor 
by  cowardice  that  the  British  were  beaten  out  of  Boston  ; 
it  was  by  the  military  capacity  of  one  man  triumphing 
dVer  extraordinary  difficulties  of  his  own  and  helped  by 
unusual  stupidity  and  incompetence  on  the  part  of  his 
enemy  whom  he  accurately  estimated. 

How  was  it,  to  go  a  step  farther,  that  such  men  as 
Gage  and  Clinton  and  Howe  were  sent  out  to  conquer  men 
of  their  own  race,  risen  in  arms,  and  led  by  George  Wash 
ington  ?  For  the  same  reason  that  the  British  soldiers  were 
marched  up  the  slopes  of  Bunker  Hill  as  if  they  were  go 
ing  on  a  holiday  parade.  It  was  because  England's  Minis 
ters  and  people  knew  nothing  of  the  Americans,  wanted  to 
know  nothing,  despised  them,  thought  them  cowards,  and 
never  dreamed  for  one  moment  that  they  could  produce  a 
great  general.  There  was  absolutely  no  reason  in  the 
nature  of  things  why  the  Americans  should  not  be  able  to 
fight  and  bring  forth  great  commanders.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  they  did  both,  but  .as  they  were  no  longer  native  Eng 
lishmen,  England  believed  they  could  do  neither.  Bunker 
Hill  threw  some  light  on  the  first  theory  ;  George  Wash 
ington  riding  into  Boston  in  the  wake  of  a  flying  British 
army,  illuminated  the  second.  England  learned  nothing 
from  either  event,  except  that  coercion  would  require  larger 
forces  than  she  had  anticipated  ;  still  less  did  she  suspect 
that  the  men  who  could  write  the  State  papers  of  Congress 
could  also  be  diplomatists  and  find  powerful  allies.  She 
was  about  to  win  some  military  successes,  as  was  to  be  ex 
pected  with  the  odds  so  largely  in  her  favor.  Encouraged 


THE  SIEGE  OF   BOSTON  117 

by  them,  she  paid  no  real  heed  either  to  Bunker  Hill  or 
Boston,  and  neither  revised  her  estimate  of  the  American 
soldier,  nor  paid  much  attention  to  his  chief.  Yet  both 
events  were  of  inestimable  importance,  for  one  showed  the 
fighting  quality  of  the  American  people,  the  other  the 
military  capacity  and  moral  force  of  Washington,  and  it  was 
by  the  fighting  of  the  American  soldier  and  the  ability  and 
indomitable  courage  of  Washington  that  the  American 
Revolution  came  to  victory.  Much  else  contributed  to 
that  victory,  but  without  Washington  and  the  soldiers  who 
followed  him,  it  would  have  been  impossible. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    SPREAD    OF    REVOLUTION 

IT  would  have  been  a  very  obvious  part  of  good  mili 
tary  judgment  for  the  British  commanders  to  endeavor  to 
force  Washington  away  from  Boston  by  assailing  his  com 
munications  to  the  west  and  south,  or  by  attacks  in  other 
important  quarters,  which  would  have  demanded  relief 
from  the  main  army.  Military  judgment,  however,  was 
not  a  quality  for  which  the  British  generals  in  Boston  were 
conspicuous.  Still  less  is  it  conceivable  that  any  of  them 
should  have  taken  a  broad  view  of  the  whole  military  situ 
ation  and  sought  to  compel  Washington  to  raise  the  siege 
by  a  movement  in  another  direction,  as  Scipio,  to  take  a 
proverbial  example,  forced  Hannibal  out  of  Italy  by  the 
invasion  of  Africa.  This  none  the  less  was  one  intelligent 
course  to  pursue.  Another  equally  sensible  would  have 
been  to  concentrate  the  war  at  Boston,  and  by  avoiding  col 
lisions  and  cultivating  good  relations  with  the  people  of 
the  other  colonies  endeavor  to  separate  Massachusetts  from 
the  rest  of  the  continent.  The  British  took  neither  course, 
and  so  lost  the  advantages  of  both.  They  did  enough  to 
alarm  and  excite  the  other  colonies  and  to  make  them  feel 
that  the  cause  of  Massachusetts  was  their  own,  and  yet  they 
did  not  do  anything  sufficiently  effective  even  to  distract 
Washington's  attention,  much  less  loosen  his  iron  grip  on 
Boston. 

118 


THE   SPREAD    OF    REVOLUTION  121 

In  October,  1775,  Captain  Mowatt  appeared  off  Fal- 
mouth,  in  Maine,  where  the  city  of  Portland  now  stands, 
opened  fire  and  destroyed  the  little  town  by  a  heavy  bom 
bardment.  It  was  an  absolutely  useless  performance  ;  led 
to  nothing,  and  was  hurtful  to  the  British  cause.  Wash 
ington  at  once  made  preparations  to  defend  Portsmouth, 
thinking  that  the  New -Hampshire  town  would  be  the  next 
victim,  but  the  British  had  no  plan,  not  enough  even  to 
make  their  raids  continuous  and  effective.  They  stopped 
with  the  burning  of  Falmouth,  which  was  sufficient  to  alarm 
every  coast-town  in  New  England,  and  make  the  people 
believe  that  their  only  hope  of  saving  their  homes  was  in  a 
desperate  warfare  ;  and  which  at  the  same  time  did  not 
weaken  the  Americans  in  the  least  or  force  Washington 
to  raise  the  siege  of  Boston. 

In  explanation  of  the  attack  on  Falmouth,  it  could  at 
least  be  said  that  it  was  a  New  England  town  and  be 
longed  to  Massachusetts,  and  that  all  New  England  prac 
tically  was  in  arms.  But  even  this  could  not  be  urged  in 
defence  of  the  British  policy  elsewhere.  In  the  middle 
colonies,  where  the  loyalists  were  strong  and  the  people 
generally  conservative,  little  was  done  to  hurry  on  the  Rev 
olution.  The  English  representatives,  except  Tryon,  who 
was  active  and  intriguing  in  New  York,  behaved,  on  the 
whole,  with  sense  and  moderation,  and  did  nothing  to  pre 
cipitate  the  appeal  to  arms. 

In  the  South  the  case  was  widely  different.  The  Brit 
ish  governors  there,  one  after  the  other,  became  embroiled 
with  the  people  at  the  earliest  moment ;  then,  without  be 
ing  in  the  least  personal  danger,  fled  to  a  man-of-war,  and 
wound  up  by  making  some  petty  and  ineffective  attack 
which  could  have  no  result  but  irritation.  Thus  Lord 


122  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Dunmore  behaved  in  Virginia.  It  is  true  that  that  great 
colony  was  like  New  England,  almost  a  unit  in  the  policy 
of  resistance  to  England,  yet  she  had  committed  no  overt 
act  herself,  and  good  sense  would  seem  to  have  dictated 
every  effort  to  postpone  the  appeal  to  force.  Lord  Dun- 
more,  however,  after  much  arguing  and  proclaiming,  be 
took  himself  to  a  man-of-war.  There  was  nothing  san 
guinary  or  murderous  about  the  American  Revolution,  for 
it  was  waged  on  a  principle  and  not  in  revenge  for  wrongs ; 
but,  nevertheless,  Lord  Dunmore  apparently  thought  his 
precious  life  was  in  peril.  Having  ensconced  himself 
safely  in  the  war-ship,  with  a  delightful  absence  of  humor 
he  summoned  the  assembly  to  meet  him  at  the  seat  of 
government,  an  invitation  not  accepted  by  the  Burgesses. 
Then  he  dropped  down  the  river,  was  joined  by  some  ad 
ditional  war-ships,  made  an  attack  on  the  village  of  Hamp 
ton,  and  was  repulsed.  Foiled  there,  he  took  position  in 
the  rear  of  Norfolk,  commanding  the  bridge,  and  drove 
off  some  militia.  The  Virginians,  now  thoroughly  aroused, 
called  out  some  troops,  a  sharp  action  ensued,  and  the 
British  forces  were  very  creditably  beaten.  Still  unsat 
isfied,  Lord  Dunmore  proceeded  to  bombard  and  destroy 
Norfolk,  the  largest  and  most  important  town  in  the  col 
ony.  This  was  his  last  exploit,  but  he  had  done  a  good 
deal.  His  flight  had  cleared  the  way  for  an  independent 
provincial  government.  His  attack  on  Hampton  and  the 
fight  at  the  bridge  had  brought  war  into  Virginia,  and  her 
people,  brave,  hardy,  and  very  ready  to  fight,  had  quickly 
crossed  the  Rubicon  and  committed  themselves  to  revolu 
tion.  The  burning  of  Norfolk,  wanton  as  it  was,  added  to 
the  political  resistance  a  keen  sense  of  wrong,  and  a  desire 
for  vengeance  which  were  not  present  before.  The  de- 


THE    SPREAD    OF    REVOLUTION  123 

struction  of  the  Virginia  seaport  also  had  the  effect  of  ex 
citing  and  alarming  the  whole  Southern  seaboard,  and 
brought  no  advantage  whatever  to  the  cause  of  England. 
Altogether,  it  seems  that  Lord  Dunmore's  policy,  if  he  was 
capable  of  having  one,  was  to  spread  the  Revolution  as  fast, 
and  cement  the  union  of  all  the  colonies  as  strongly,  as 
possible. 

Unlike  Virginia,  the  Carolinas  were  sharply  divided  in 
regard  to  the  differences  with  the  mother-country.  In 
North  Carolina  there  was  a  strong  loyalist  party,  the  bulk 
of  which  numerically  was  formed  of  Highlanders  who  had 
come  to  America  since  1745,  and  conspicuous  among 
whom  were  the  famous  Flora  Macdonald  and  her  husband. 
Martin,  the  Governor  there,  went  through  the  customary 
performances  of  British  governors.  He  stirred  up  one  part 
of  the  community  against  the  other,  set  a  civil  war  on 
foot  in  the  colony,  betook  himself  to  a  man-of-war,  and 
cried  out  for  help  from  England.  The  usual  result  fol 
lowed.  The  loyalists  attacked  the  Minute  Men  under  Cas- 
well,  who  had  posted  themselves  at  a  bridge  from  which 
they  had  taken  the  planks.  The  Highlanders  gallantly 
attempted  to  cross  on  the  beams  but  were  beaten  back,  for 
the  claymore  was  no  match  for  the  rifle.  In  this  way  the 
colony  was  alienated  from  the  Crown,  fighting  was  started, 
the  party  of  revolution  and  resistance  was  left  with  a  clear 
field  and  a  free  hand  as  the  only  positive  force,  to  set  up 
an  independent  government  and  seize  all  authority. 

In  South  Carolina  there  was  a  similar  division  between 
the  people  and  planters  of  the  seaboard,  who  were  on  the 
American  side,  and  the  herdsmen  and  small  farmers  of  the 
interior,  many  of  whom  inclined  strongly  to  the  Crown. 
This  division,  Lord  William  Campbell  the  Governor— 


124  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

made  such  merely  because  he  was  one  of  a  noble  family- 
did  all  in  his  power  to  foment.  British  agents  were  sent 
into  the  western  counties  to  rouse  the  inhabitants,  and  not 
content  with  this,  these  same  agents  began  to  intrigue  with 
the  Indians.  If  any  one  thing  was  more  calculated  than  all 
else  to  make  the  rupture  with  the  mother-country  hopeless, 
it  was  the  idea  of  letting  loose  the  Indians  upon  the  frontier. 
To  incite  this  savage  warfare  was  to  drive  the  Americans  to 
desperation  and  to  convert  even  loyalists  to  the  cause  of 
resistance  and  hatred  against  England.  Yet  the  English 
Ministry  resorted  to  this  inhuman  scheme,  and  in  the 
North  their  Indian  allies  fought  for  them  diligently  and 
damaged  their  cause  irreparably.  The  Indian  intriguing 
in  South  Carolina  did  not,  at  this  time,  come  to  much,  but 
Lord  William  Campbell  apparently  felt  that  he  had  done 
enough.  He  had  stirred  up  strife,  incited  the  patriots  to 
begin  the  work  of  fortifying  Charleston  Harbor,  and  then 
he  departed  to  the  customary  man-of-war,  leaving  his  oppo 
nents  to  take  control  of  the  government  while  he  urged  aid 
from  England,  and  explained  what  cowards  and  poor  creat 
ures  generally  the  Americans  were  from  whom  he  had  run 
away. 

Georgia  was  weak,  the  youngest  of  all  the  colonies,  and 
her  Governor,  Sir  James  Wright,  was  prudent  and  concilia 
tory.  So  the  colony  kept  quiet,  sent  no  delegates  to  the 
first,  and  only  one,  who  was  locally  chosen,  to  the  second 
Congress.  The  condition  of  Georgia  was  a  lesson  as  to 
the  true  policy  of  England  had  her  Ministry  understood 
how  to  divide  the  colonies  one  from  another.  But  they 
seemed  to  think  that  the  way  to  hold  the  colonies  to  Eng 
land  and  to  prevent  their  union,  was  to  make  a  show  of 
force  everywhere.  Such  stupidity,  as  Dr.  Johnson  said, 


I  THE   SPREAD    OF    REVOLUTION  125 

does  not  seem  in  nature,  but  that  it  existed  is  none  the 
less  certain.  So  in  due  course,  dulness  being  in  full  con 
trol  in  London,  a  small  squadron  appeared  off  Savannah. 
Immediately  the  people  who  had  been  holding  back  from 
revolution  rose  in  arms.  Sir  James  Wright  was  arrested, 
and  the  other  officers  of  the  Crown  fled,  or  were  made 
prisoners.  Three  weeks  later  the  Governor  escaped,  took 
refuge  in  the  conventional  manner  on  a  convenient  man-of- 
war,  and  then  announced  that  the  people  were  under  the 
control  of  the  Carolinas  and  could  only  be  subdued  by 
force.  Thus  Georgia,  menaced  by  England  and  deserted 
by  her  Governor,  passed  over  to  independence  and  organ 
ized  a  government  of  her  own,  when  she  might  have  been 
kept  at  least  neutral,  owing  to  her  position,  her  weakness, 
and  her  exposed  frontier. 

The  actions  of  their  governors  were  sufficient  to  alienate 
the  Southern  colonies  and  push  on  the  movement  toward 
independence,  but  a  far  more  decisive  step  was  taken  by 
the  English  Government  itself.  In  October,  1775,  the 
King  decided  that  the  South,  which  had  thus  far  done 
nothing  but  sympathize  with  the  North  and  sustain  Massa 
chusetts  in  Congress,  must  be  attacked  and  brought  by 
force  into  a  proper  frame  of  mind.  The  King  therefore 
planned  an  expedition  against  the  Southern  colonies  in 
October  and  decided  that  Clinton  should  have  the  com 
mand.  The  manner  in  which  this  affair  was  managed  is 
an  illustration  of  the  incapacity  of  English  administration, 
which  so  recently,  under  Pitt,  had  sustained  Frederick  of 
Prussia,  and  conquered  North  America  from  the  French. 
Not  until  February  did  the  expedition  under  Admiral 
Parker  sail  with  the  fleet  and  transports  from  Cork.  Not 
; until  May  did  Clinton  receive  his  instructions,  and  it  was 


126  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  third  of  that  month  when  the  fleet,  much  scattered, 
finally  entered  Cape  Fear  River.  The  conduct  of  the  ex 
pedition  conformed  with  its  organization,  and  differences 
between  the  general  and  the  admiral  began  at  once.  Clin 
ton  wanted  to  go  to  the  Chesapeake,  while  Lord  William 
Campbell  urged  an  attack  on  Charleston.  The  latter's 
council  prevailed,  and  after  Cornwallis  had  landed,  de 
stroyed  a  plantation,  and  roused  the  people  of  North 
Carolina  by  a  futile  raid,  the  fleet  departed  for  the  south. 

It  was  the  first  day  of  June  when  news  was  brought  to 
Charleston  that  a  fleet  of  forty  or  fifty  sail  were  some  twenty 
miles  north  of  the  bar.  The  tidings  were  grave  indeed,  but 
South  Carolina  had  improved  the  time  since  Lord  William 
Campbell's  departure  under  the  bold  and  vigorous  leader 
ship  of  John  Rutledge,  who  had  been  chosen  President  of 
the  colony.  Work  had  been  pushed  vigorously  on  the  de 
fences,  and  especially  at  Sullivan's  Island,  where  a  fort  of 
palmetto-wood  was  built  and  manned  under  the  direction 
and  command  of  William  Moultrie.  Continental  troops 
arrived  from  the  North.  First  came  General  Armstrong 
of  Pennsylvania,  then  two  North  Carolina  regiments,  and 
then  the  best  regiment  of  Virginia.  Also  came  General 
Charles  Lee,  to  whom  great  deference  was  paid  on  account 
of  his  rank  in  the  Continental  Army,  and  still  more  be 
cause  he  was  an  Englishman.  As  usual,  however,  Lee  did 
no  good,  and  if  his  advice  had  been  followed  he  would 
have  done  much  harm.  He  made  an  early  visit  to  Sulli 
van's  Island,  pronounced  the  fort  useless,  and  advised  its 
abandonment.  Moultrie,  a  very  quiet  man  of  few  words, 
replied  that  he  thought  he  could  hold  the  fort,  which  was 
all  he  ever  said  apparently  to  any  of  the  prophets  of  evil 
who  visited  him.  At  all  events,  sustained  by  Rutledge,  he 


THE    SPREAD    OF   REVOLUTION 


127 


stayed  quietly  and  silently  where  he  was,  strengthening  the 
fort  and  making  ready  for  an  attack.  Lee,  who  took  the 
British  view  that  British  sol 
diers  were  invincible,  then  pro 
ceeded  to  do  everything  in  his 
power  to  make  them  so,  and 
being  unable  to  induce  Rut- 
ledge  to  order  the  abandon 
ment  of  the  island,  he  with 
drew  some  of  the  troops  and 
then  devoted  himself  to  urging 
Moultrie  to  build  a  bridge  to 
retreat  over.  Moultrie,  how 
ever,  like  many  other  brave 
men,  had  apparently  a  simple 
and  straightforward  mind.  He 
had  come  to  fight,  not  retreat, 
and  he  went  on  building  his  fort  and  paid  little  attention 
to  the  matter  of  the  bridge. 

But  although  Lee  was  doing  all  the  damage  he  could 
by  interfering  with  Moultrie,  the  government  of  the  colony 
gave  the  latter  hearty  backing  and  supported  him  by  well- 
arranged  defences.  Fortunately,  there  was  an  abundance 
of  men  to  draw  upon — all  the  South  Carolina  militia,  the 
continental  troops,  and  the  regiments  from  North  Carolina 
and  Virginia.  Armstrong,  who  acted  cordially  with  Moul 
trie,  was  at  Hadrell's  Point  with  some  fifteen  hundred  men, 
while  Thomson,  of  Orangeburg,  with  nearly  a  thousand 
riflemen  from  the  Carolinas,  was  sent  to  the  island  to  sup 
port  the  garrison.  In  addition  to  this,  Gadsden,  with  the 
first  Carolina  regiment,  occupied  Fort  Johnson,  and  there 
were  about  two  thousand  more  men  in  the  city.  Charles 


es  NERAL    WILLIAM  MOULTRIE. 

From  the  painting  by  John  Trumbull,  7797. 


128 


THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


ton    itself    had   also  been  diligently   and   rapidly   fortified 
when  the  Government  heard  of  the  coming  of  the  British  ; 
warehouses  had  been  taken  down  and  batteries  and  works 
established    along    the    water-front.      The 
skill,  thoroughness,  and  intelligence  shown 
in  the  preparations  of  South  Carolina  were 
wholly  admirable,  and  to  them  was  largely 
due  the  victory  which  was  won. 

Zealously,  however,  as  these  prepara 
tions  had  been  made,  they  were  in  a  large 
measure  completed  and  per 
fected  only  after  the  news  of 
the  coming  of  the  British  fleet 
and  army  had  been  received. 
It  seems  almost  incredible 
when  time  was  so  vital  to  suc 
cess  that  the  English  should 
have  given  to  their  opponents 
such  ample  opportunity  to 
make  ready.  But  so  it  was. 
It  was  the  ist  of  June  when 
Parker  came  off  the  bar  with  his  ships,  and  a  month  elapsed 
before  he  attacked.  Such  inefficiency  is  not  easily  under 
stood  ;  nor  is  it  clear  why  the  English  should  have  been 
so  delayed.  They  seem  indeed  simply  to  have  wasted 
their  time.  Not  until  June  7th  did  Clinton  send  on  shore 
his  proclamation  denouncing  the  rebels.  On  the  Qth  he  be 
gan  to  disembark  his  men  on  Long  Island,  having  been 
told  that  there  was  a  practicable  ford  between  that  place 
and  Sullivan's  Island  where  the  fort  stood,  a  piece  of  in 
formation  which  he  did  not  even  take  the  trouble  to  verify. 
On  the  loth  the  British  came  over  the  bar  with  thirty  or 


OLD  ST.   MICHAEL'S   CHURCH, 

CHARLESTON,    S.    C. 

The  Steeple  Served  as  a  Beacon  for  the  Mariners 
of  the  Time. 


THE   SPREAD    OF   REVOLUTION  129 

forty  vessels,  including  the  transports.  What  they  did  dur 
ing  the  ensuing  week  is  not  clear.  Clinton  completed  the 
landing  of  his  troops,  more  than  three  thousand  in  num 
ber,  on  the  island,  which  was  a  naked  sand-bar,  where  the 
men  were  scorched  by  the  sun,  bitten  by  mosquitoes,  forced 
to  drink  bad  water,  and  suffered  from  lack  of  provisions. 
Having  comfortably  established  his  army  in  this  desirable 
spot,  he  then  thoughtfully  looked  for  the  practicable  ford, 
found  there  was  none,  and  announced  the  interesting  dis 
covery  to  Sir  Peter  Parker.  That  excellent  seaman  was 
not  apparently  disturbed.  Indeed,  his  interest  in  Clinton 
seems  to  have  been  of  the  slightest.  He  exercised  his 
sailors  and  marines  in  the  movements  for  entering  a  fort, 
and  felt  sure  of  an  easy  victory,  for  he  despised  the 
Americans,  and  was  confident  that  he  could  get  on  per 
fectly  well  without  Clinton.  In  this  view  he  was  encour 
aged  by  letters  from  the  Governor  of  East  Florida,  who 
assured  him  that  South  Carolina  was  really  loyal,  and  that 
the  fort  would  yield  at  once,  while  he  was  still  further 
cheered  by  the  arrival  of  the  Experiment,  a  fifty-gun  ship. 
Thus  strengthened,  and  with  a  fair  wind,  he  at  last  bore 
down  toward  the  fort  on  June  28th. 

Moultrie  was  entirely  ready.  Fie  sent  Thomson  with 
the  riflemen  down  toward  the  east  to  watch  Clinton  on 
Long  Island  and  to  prevent  his  crossing,  while  with  four 
hundred  and  fifty  men  he  prepared  to  defend  the  fort  him 
self.  The  attack  began  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
First  two  vessels  shelled  the  fort,  then  four  more  (including 
the  Bristol  and  Experiment,  fifty-gun  ships)  anchored  with 
in  four  hundred  yards  of  the  fort  and  opened  a  heavy  fire. 
The  palmetto  logs  stood  the  shots  admirably,  for  the  balls 
sank  into  the  soft  wood,  which  neither  broke  nor  splint- 


130  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ered.  To  counterbalance  this  good  fortune,  Moultrie,  un 
luckily,  had  very  little  powder  and  received  only  a  small 
additional  supply  later  in  the  day,  so  that  he  was  obliged  to 
husband  his  resources,  and  kept  up  a  slow,  although  steady, 
fire.  It  was,  however,  well  aimed  and  very  destructive. 
The  Bristol  suffered  severely ;  her  cables  were  cut,  and  as 
she  swung  to  the  tide  the  Americans  raked  her.  Three 
fresh  ships  which  came  up  ran  aground.  The  men  in  the 
fort  suffered  but  little,  and  when  the  flag  was  shot  away, 
Sergeant  Jasper  sprang  to  the  parapet  in  the  midst  of  the 
shot  and  shell  and  replaced  it  on  a  halberd.  So  the  day 
slowly  passed.  The  British  kept  up  a  heavy  cannonade, 
while  the  Americans  replied  by  a  slow  and  deadly  fire, 
striking  the  ships  with  almost  every  shot.  Meantime  the 
army  on  Long  Island  assisted  as  spectators.  Clinton  looked 
at  the  place  where  the  ford  should  have  been  and  decided 
not  to  cross.  He  then  put  some  of  his  men  in  boats,  but 
on  examining  Thomson  and  his  riflemen,  perhaps  with 
memories  of  Bunker  Hill  floating  in  his  mind,  concluded 
that  to  attempt  a  landing  would  be  a  mere  waste  of  life. 
So  he  stayed  on  the  sand-bank  and  sweltered,  and  watched 
the  ships.  At  last  the  long  hot  day  drew  to  a  close  and 
Admiral  Parker,  having  suffered  severely,  and  made  no 
impression  whatever  on  the  fort,  slipped  his  cables  and 
dropped  down  to  his  old  anchorage. 

When  morning  came,  the  results  of  the  fighting  were 
apparent.  The  Actseon  was  aground,  and  was  burned  to 
the  water's  edge.  The  Bristol  had  lost  two  masts,  and  was 
practically  a  wreck.  The  Experiment  was  little  better. 
Altogether,  the  British  lost  two  hundred  and  five  men 
killed  and  wounded,  and  one  man-of-war.  The  Americans 
lost  eleven  men  killed,  and  had  twenty-six  wounded.  It 


THE   SPREAD   OF   REVOLUTION 


133 


was  a  very  well-fought  action,  and  the  honor  of  the  day 
belonged  to  Moultrie,  whose  calm  courage  and  excellent 
dispositions  enabled  him  to  hold  the  fort  and  beat  off  the 
enemy.  Much  was  also  due  to  the  admirable  arrangements 
made  by  the  South  Carolinians,  under  the  lead  of  Rutledge 
who  had  every  important  point  well-covered  and  strongly 
held. 

On  the  side  of  the  British,  to  the  long  and  injurious 
delays  was  added  fatal  blundering  when  they  finally  went 


-^fe^ji. 


FORT  MOULTRIE,   AT  THE  PRESENT  DAY. 
On  the  site  of  Fort  Sullivan. 

into  action.  Clinton's  men  were  stupidly  imprisoned  on 
Long  Island,  and  rendered  utterly  useless.  Parker,  in 
stead  of  running  the  fort  and  attacking  the  city,  which 
from  a  naval  point  of  view  was  the  one  thing  to  do,  for 
the  capture  or  destruction  of  the  city  would  have  rendered 
all  outposts  untenable,  anchored  in  front  of  the  fort  within 
easy  range,  and  tried  to  pound  it  down.  It  was  so  well 
built  that  it  resisted  his  cannonade,  and  all  the  advantage 


134          THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

was  with  Moultrie  and  his  men,  who  with  perfect  coolness 
and  steady  aim  cut  the  men-of-war  to  pieces,  and  would 
have  done  much  more  execution  if  they  had  been  well 
supplied  with  powder.  It  was  the  same  at  Charleston  as 
elsewhere.  Parker  believed  that  the  Americans  could  not, 
and  would  not,  fight,  but  would  run  away  as  soon  as  he 
laid  his  ships  alongside  and  began  to  fire.  He  never 
stopped  to  think  that  men  who  drew  their  blood  from  Eng 
land,  from  the  Scotch-Irish,  and  from  the  Huguenots,  came 
of  fighting  stocks,  and  that  the  mere  fact  that  they  lived 
in  America  and  not  in  Great  Britain  did  not  necessarily 
alter  their  courage  or  capacity.  So  he  gave  them  ample 
time  to  make  ready,  and  then,  on  the  theory  that  they 
would  run  like  sheep,  he  put  his  ships  up  as  targets  at  close 
range  and  imagined  that  he  would  thus  take  the  fort. 
No  braver  people  lived  than  the  South  Carolinians.  They 
stood  their  ground,  kept  the  fort,  and  fought  all  day 
stripped  to  the  waist  under  the  burning  sun.  After  ten 
hours  Parker  found  his  ships  terribly  cut  up  and  the  fort 
practically  intact.  Whether  during  the  night  he  reflected 
on  what  had  happened,  and  saw  that  his  perfect  contempt 
for  the  Americans  was  the  cause  of  his  defeat,  no  one  now 
can  say.  Certain  it  is,  however,  that  after  exchanging 
recriminations  with  Clinton  he  gave  up  any  idea  of  further 
attack.  Clinton  and  his  regiments  got  off  in  about  three 
weeks  for  New  York,  and  Parker,  as  soon  as  he  was  able, 
departed  with  his  fleet  to  refit. 

The  British  expedition,  politically  speaking,  ought  never 
to  have  been  sent  at  all,  for  its  coming  simply  completed 
the  alienation  of  the  Southern  colonies.  From  a  military 
point  of  view,  it  was  utterly  mismanaged  from  beginning 
to  end,  and  the  victory  won  by  South  Carolina,  led  by 


THE    SPREAD    OF   REVOLUTION  135 

Moultrie  and  his  men,  was  of  immense  importance.  It 
consolidated  the  South  and  at  the  same  time  set  them  free 
for  three  years  from  British  invasion,  thus  enabling  them 
to  give  their  aid  when  it  was  needed  in  the  middle  colonies. 
When  war  again  came  upon  them  the  British  had  been  so 
far  checked  that  the  North  was  able  to  come  to  the  help 
of  the  South.  Washington's  victory  at  Boston  and  the  re 
pulse  of  the  British  fleet  at  Charleston,  by  relieving  New 
England  and  the  South,  enabled  the  Americans  to  con 
centrate  in  the  middle  colonies  at  the  darkest  time  when 
the  fate  of  the  revolution  was  in  suspense.  The  failure  of 
England  to  hold  her  position  in  Massachusetts,  or  to  main 
tain  her  invasion  of  the  South,  was  most  disastrous  to  her 
cause.  Either  by  political  management  or  force  of  arms, 
she  should  have  separated  these  regions  from  the  great 
central  provinces.  She  failed  in  both  directions,  and  only 
did  enough  to  drive  the  colonies  together  and  to  encourage 
the  Americans  to  fight. 


CHAPTER  VII 

INDEPENDENCE 

AFTER  they  had  provided  themselves  with  a  General 
and  an  army,  and  the  General  had  ridden  away 
to  Boston,  Congress  found  themselves  in  a  new 
position.  They  had  come  into  existence  to  represent,  in 
a  united  way,  the  views  of  the  colonies  in  regard  to  the 
differences  which  had  arisen  with  the  mother-country, 
a  duty  they  had  performed  most  admirably.  The  State 
papers  in  which  they  had  set  forth  their  opinions  and 
argued  their  case  were  not  only  remarkable,  but  they 
had  commanded  respect  and  admiration  even  in  England, 
and  had  attracted  attention  on  the  Continent  of  Europe. 
This  was  the  precise  business  for  which  they  had  been 
chosen,  and  they  had  executed  their  commission  with 
dignity  and  ability.  They  had  elevated  their  cause  in  the 
eyes  of  all  men,  and  had  behaved  with  wisdom  and  pru 
dence.  But  this  work  of  theirs  was  an  appeal  to  reason,  and 
the  weapons  were  debate  and  argument  with  which  while 
they  were  trying  to  convince  England  of  the  justice  of 
their  demands,  they  had  strengthened  the  opinions  and 
sharpened  the  convictions  of  their  own  people.  Thus  had 
they  stimulated  the  popular  movement  which  had  brought 
Congress  into  existence,  and  thus  did  they  quicken  the 

march  of  events  which  bore  them  forward  even  in  their 

136 


INDEPENDENCE  137 

own  despite.  While  they  resolved  and  argued  and  drafted 
addresses  and  petitions  in  Philadelphia,  other  Americans 
fought  at  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill  and  Ticonderoga. 
While  they  discussed  and  debated,  an  army  of  their  fellow- 
citizens  gathered  around  Boston  and  held  a  British  army 
besieged.  Thus  was  the  responsibility  of  action  forced 
upon  them.  They  could  not  escape  it.  They  had  them 
selves  helped  to  create  the  situation  which  made  the  battles 
in  Massachusetts  the  battles  of  all  the  colonies  alike.  So 
they  proceeded  to  adopt  the  army,  make  generals,  and 
borrow  money.  In  other  words,  under  the  pressure  of 
events,  these  men  who  had  assembled  merely  to  consult  and 
resolve  and  petition,  suddenly  became  a  law-making  and 
executive  government.  For  the  first  of  these  functions, 
thanks  to  the  natural  capacity  of  the  race,  they  were  suf 
ficiently  well  adapted  to  meet  the  emergency.  If  they 
could  pass  resolutions,  publish  addresses,  and  put  forth 
arguments,  as  they  had  done  with  signal  ability,  they 
were  entirely  capable  of  passing  all  the  laws  necessary 
for  a  period  of  revolution.  But  when  it  came  to  the 
business  of  execution  and  administration,  they  were  almost 
entirely  helpless.  That  they  had  no  authority  was  but  the 
least  of  their  difficulties,  for  authority  they  could  and  did 
assume.  Far  more  serious  was  the  fact  that  they  had  no 
assurance  that  anything  they  did  or  said  would  be  heeded 
or  obeyed,  for  they  represented  thirteen  colonies,  each 
one  of  which  believed  itself  to  be  sovereign  and  on  an 
equality  with  the  Congress.  They  were  obliged  there 
fore  to  trust  solely  to  the  force  of  circumstances  and 
to  public  opinion  for  obedience  to  their  decrees,  and  al 
though  this  obedience  came  after  a  halting  fashion  under 
the  pressure  of  war,  it  rested  on  very  weak  foundations. 


133  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

They  had  no  frame  of  government  whatever,  no  organiza 
tion,  no  chief  executive,  no  departments  for  the  transaction 
of  the  public  business.  Yet  they  were  compelled  to  carry  on 
a  war,  and  war  depends  but  little  on  legislation  and  almost 
wholly  on  executive  action.  No  legislative  body  is  really 
fit  for  executive  work  ;  and  able,  wise,  and  patriotic  as  the 
members  of  our  first  Congress  were,  they  could  not  over 
come  this  fatal  defect.  They  chose  committees  as  a  matter 
of  course,  and  this  mitigated  the  inherent  evils  of  the 
situation,  but  was  very  far  from  removing  them.  They 
were  still  a  legislative  body  trying  to  do  in  various  direc 
tions  work  which  only  a  single  man  could  properly  under 
take.  Here  then  was  the  great  weakness  of  the  American 
cause,  and  yet  it  could  not  be  avoided.  A  Congress  with 
out  power  and  forced  to  operate  through  thirteen  distinct 
sovereignties  was  the  only  executive  government  with 
which  the  American  Revolution  began,  and  it  never  be 
came  much  better,  although  some  improvements  were 
effected.  At  the  outset,  moreover,  the  Congress  was  not 
clear  as  to  just  what  it  meant  to  do.  They  were  engaged 
in  actual  and  flagrant  war  with  England,  and  at  the  same 
time  were  arguing  and  reasoning  with  the  mother-country 
and  trying  to  come  to  terms  of  peaceful  settlement  with 
her.  They  despatched  George  Washington  to  beleaguer 
a  British  army,  and  at  the  same  time  clung  to  their  alle 
giance  to  the  British  Crown.  When  events  forced  them  to 
action  under  these  conditions,  the  feebleness  of -Congress 
as  an  executive  government  soon  became  painfully  ap 
parent. 

They  sent  Washington  off  with  nothing  but  his  com 
mission,  and  hoped  that  they  could  in  one  campaign  bring 
about  a  treaty  with  England.  The  New  York  Provincial 


INDEPENDENCE  139 

Congress  came  forward  with  a  plan  of  peaceful  reconcilia 
tion,  which  was  all  very  well,  if  England  had  been  willing 
to  listen  to  anything  of  that  sort,  and  the  Continental 
Congress  still  labored  under  the  same  delusion.  Yet  there 
were  the  hard  facts  of  the  situation  continually  knocking 
at  the  door  and  insisting  on  an  answer.  So,  even  while 
they  were  considering  plans  for  peace,  they  were  obliged 
to  act.  Money  had  to  be  obtained  in  some  way,  for 
schemes  of  reconciliation  paid  no  bills,  and  they  had 
adopted  an  army  and  made  a  general.  How  were  they  to 
get  it?  They  had  no  authority  to  impose  taxes.  It  is 
true  that  they  could  have  assumed  this  as  they  did  much 
other  authority,  but  they  had  neither  the  power  nor  the 
machinery  to  collect  taxes  if  they  imposed  them.  The 
collection  of  taxes  could  not  be  assumed,  for  it  was  some 
thing  to  be  done  by  proper  executive  force,  of  which  they 
were  destitute.  Thus  pressed,  they  resorted  to  the  easy 
and  disastrous  expedient  of  issuing  continental  bills  of 
credit,  merely  pledging  the  colonies  to  redeem  them,  and 
without  any  provision  for  really  raising  money  at  all. 
Probably,  this  was  the  best  that  could  be  done,  but  it  was 
a  source  of  weakness  and  came  near  wrecking  the  Amer 
ican  cause.  They  also  adopted  a  code  for  the  government 
of  the  army  ;  authorized  the  invasion  of  Canada,  and  sent 
agents  to  the  Indians  to  prevent  their  forming  alliances 
with  Great  Britain. 

These  things  accomplished,  Congress  turned  again  to 
the  business  for  which  they  had  been  chosen,  the  defence 
of  the  American  position  ;  and  on  July  6th  published  a 
declaration  of  the  reasons  for  taking  up  arms.  This  was 
done  thoroughly  well.  They  set  forth  the  acts  of  hostility 
on  the  part  of  Great  Britain,  and  showed  that  the  Ministry 


140  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

were  trying  to  subdue  them  by  force,  which  the  Ministry 
certainly  would  not  have  denied.  They  declared  that  they 
preferred  armed  resistance  to  the  unconditional  submission 
which  England  demanded,  and  at  the  same  time  they  pro 
tested  that  they  were  not  fighting  for  "the  desperate  meas 
ure  of  independence,"  but  only  to  defend  themselves  from 
unprovoked  attack.  Their  statement  was  plain  and  truth 
ful,  and  they  honestly  represented  the  public  reluctance  to 
seek  independence.  It  would  have  been  well  if  England 
had  heeded  it,  but,  unluckily,  England  was  committed  to 
another  policy  and  this  was  all  too  late.  The  declaration, 
as  it  stood,  under  existing  conditions  meant  war,  and  they 
should  have  followed  it  up  by  straining  every  nerve  in 
earnest  preparation.  Some  of  the  members,  like  John 
Adams  and  Franklin,  knew  \vhat  it  all  meant  well  enough, 
but  Congress  \vould  not  so  interpret  it.  Instead  of  ac 
tively  going  to  work  to  make  an  effective  government  and 
take  all  steps  needful  for  the  energetic  prosecution  of  the 
war,  they  adopted  a  second  petition  to  the  King,  which 
was  drafted  by  Dickinson.  The  contradictions  in  which 
they  were  involved  came  out  sharply  even  in  this  last  effort 
of  loyalty.  They  proposed  a  truce  and  a  negotiation  to 
the  King,  who  had  declined  to  recognize  Congress  at  all, 
and  the  King  \vas  quite  right  in  his  refusal  if  he  intended 
to  fight,  as  he  undoubtedly  did.  Congress  was  union,  and 
union  was  practical  independence.  How  then  could  the 
King  treat  with  a  body  which  by  its  very  existence  meant 
a  new  nation  ?  Yet  this  was  precisely  what  Congress 
asked  as  the  nearest  way  to  peace  and  reconciliation. 
There  could  be  no  result  to  such  a  measure  as  this,  unless 
England  was  ready  to  yield,  and  if  she  was,  the  difficulty 
would  settle  itself  quickly  and  without  argument.  They 


INDEPENDENCE  141 

also  adopted  another  address  to  the  English  people,  a 
strong  and  even  pathetic  appeal  to  race  feeling  and  com 
munity  of  thought  and  speech,  and,  at  the  same  time,  they 
sent  thanks  to  the  Mayor  and  Aldermen  of  London  for 
their  sympathy.  They  intrusted  the  petition  to  the  King 
to  Richard  Penn,  and  felt  strong  hopes  of  success,  because 
of  their  concessions  in  regard  to  trade.  They  would  not 
confess  even  to  themselves  that  the  differences  with  the 
mother-country  had  now  reached  the  point  where  the  ques 
tion  was  the  very  simple  one,  whether  the  people  of  the 
colonies  were  to  govern  America  or  the  English  King 
and  Parliament.  There  was  no  lack  of  men  who  under 
stood  all  this  perfectly,  but  they  were  not  yet  in  control, 
perhaps  were  not  ready  to  be,  and  Congress  would  not 
admit  that  the  case  was  hopeless  and  that  the  stage  had 
been  reached  where  compromises  were  no  longer  possible. 
Even  while  they  hoped  and  petitioned  and  reasoned,  the 
relentless  facts  were  upon  them.  Armies  could  not  wait 
while  eloquent  pleadings  and  able  arguments  were  passing 
slowly  across  the  Atlantic.  Washington  wrote  from  Cam 
bridge  that  the  army  was  undisciplined  and  short  in  num 
bers  ;  that  there  were  too  many  officers,  and  not  enough 
men  ;  that  he  needed  at  once  tents,  clothing,  hospitals, 
engineers,  arms  of  every  kind,  and  above  all  gunpowder, 
and  that  he  had  no  money.  From  Schuyler  at  Ticon- 
deroga  came  the  same  demands  and  the  same  report.  Con 
gress  had  to  hear  their  letters,  and  could  not  avoid  know 
ing  the  facts.  How  were  they  to  satisfy  these  wants,  how 
deal  with  these  harsh  facts  and  yet  not  interfere  with  peti 
tions  to  the  King  ?  A  question  not  easy  to  answer,  for  it  is 
never  easy  to  reconcile  two  conflicting  policies,  and  still 
worse  to  try  to  carry  both  into  effect.  The  result  was  that 


142          THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  army  suffered  because  that  was  the  only  direction  in 
which  anything  substantial  could  really  be  done,  all  peti 
tioning  having  become  by  this  time  quite  futile.  It  is  true 
that  Washington  was  authorized  to  have  an  army  of  twenty- 
two  thousand  men,  but  no  means  were  given  him  to  get 
them.  Five  thousand  men  were  also  authorized  for  Can 
ada,  and  nothing  was  done  toward  getting  them  either.  To 
make  matters  still  worse,  no  enlistments  were  to  be  made 
for  a  time  longer  than  that  in  which  they  could  hear  from 
the  King,  who  was  diligently  gathering  together  fleets  and 
armies  to  send  against  them.  They  organized  a  post-office, 
which  was  desirable,  but  not  an  engine  of  war  ;  they  also 
organized  a  hospital  service,  which  was  very  desirable,  but 
not  aggressive  ;  they  issued  more  bills  of  credit,  and  de 
cided  that  they  should  be  apportioned  according  to  popu 
lation,  and  they  failed  to  open  their  ports  to  other  nations, 
their  only  resource  for  munitions  of  war,  and  renewed  their 
non-exportation  agreements.  Franklin,  looking  out  on 
this  welter  of  contradictions  and  confusions,  and  seeing 
very  plainly  the  facts  in  the  case,  offered  a  plan  for  a  con 
federate  government  so  as  to  provide  machinery  for  what 
they  were  trying  to  do.  It  was  a  wise  and  statesmanlike 
measure  in  principle,  and  was  laid  aside.  John  Adams 
wrote  indignant  letters  declaring  that  they  should  be  at 
work  founding  and  defending  an  empire  instead  of  argu 
ing  and  waiting.  These  letters  were  intercepted  and  pub 
lished  by  the  party  of  the  Crown  in  order  to  break  down 
Adams  and  the  radicals,  which  shows,  in  a  flash  of  light, 
what  public  opinion  was  believed  to  be  at  that  moment 
in  the  great  middle  colonies.  Whether  the  loyalists 
gauged  public  opinion  correctly  or  not,  Congress  agreed 
with  them  and  allowed  everything  to  drift.  Yet,  at  the 


INDEPENDENCE  143 

same  time,  they  decisively  rejected  Lord  North's  pro 
posals.  They  would  not  accept  the  British  advances  or 
even  consider  them,  the  King  would  not  deal  with  them, 
and  yet  with  all  this  staring  them  in  the  face  they  still 
declined  to  sustain  the  army  or  frame  a  government. 
They  could  not  hear  the  idea  of  separation,  the  breaking 
of  the  bonds  of  race  and  kindred,  the  overthrow  of  all 
habits  and  customs  to  which  human  nature  clings  so  tena 
ciously.  It  was  all  very  natural,  but  it  was  very  bad  for 
the  American  Revolution,  and  caused  many  disasters  by 
keeping  us  unprepared  as  long  as  possible,  and  also  by 
fostering  the  belief  in  the  minds  of  the  people  that  all 
would  yet  come  right  and  go  on  as  before.  Men  are  s\ow] 
to  understand  the  presence  of  a  new  force  and  the  coming 
of  a  great  change.  They  are  still  slower  to  admit  it  when! 
they  do  know  it,  but  meantime  the  movement  goes  on  and 
in  due  time  takes  its  revenge  for  a  failure  to  recognize  it. ) 
Thus  Congress,  faithfully  reflecting  the  wishes  and  the 
doubts  of  a  majority  of  the  people,  failed  to  do  anything, 
where  alone  they  could  have  been  effective,  tried  nobly 
and  manfully  to  do  something  where  nothing  could  be 
done,  hesitated  on  the  brink  of  the  inevitable,  and  finally 
adjourned  on  August  ist  leaving  the  country  for  the  mo 
ment  without  any  central  government  whatever.  At  the 
same  time  they  left  Washington  with  his  army  and  the 
Canadian  expedition  and  the  siege  of  Boston  on  his  hands, 
and  nothing  to  turn  to  for  support  but  the  governments 
of  the  different  colonies.  Congress  is  not  to  be  blamed 
too  severely  for  all  this,  for  they  merely  reflected  the  hesi 
tation  and  haltings  of  a  time  when  all  was  doubt.  But 
their  failure  to  act  and  their  adjournment  without  leaving 
any  executive  officer  to  represent  them,  bring  out,  in  strong 


144          THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

relief,  the  difficulties  which  beset  Washington,  who  with 
his  army  alone  represented  the  American  Revolution  and 
the  popular  force,  as  he  was  destined  to  do  on  many  other 
occasions  and  in  much  darker  hours.  It  is  well  also  to 
note  that  despite  the  inaction  and  departure  of  Congress 
the  work  of  war  was  done  in  some  fashion,  the  siege 
of  Boston  pushed,  and  the  expedition  to  Canada  set  in 

lotion. 
The  weeks  of  adjournment  went  by.     Congress  should 

iave  reassembled  on  September  5th,  but  a  week  elapsed 
before  enough  members  were  present  to  do  business,  an 
instance  of  unpunctuality  which  was  ominous  in  a  body 
that  had  undertaken  executive  functions.  Helplessness 
was  still  supreme.  John  Adams,  of  the  intercepted  letters, 
was  cut  in  the 'street  by  the  excellent  and  patriotic  Dickin 
son,  to  whom  he  had  referred  in  those  letters  as  a  "pid 
dling  genius."  All  the  New  England  members,  indeed, 
were  regarded  with  suspicion  by  the  great  central  colonies, 
but  were  sustained  by  the  South.  Hence  much  ill-feeling 
and  animosity  became  apparent  between  the  two  parties, 
but  the  party  with  hope  for  peace  was  still  in  the  ascend 
ant,  still  holding  a  majority  which  was  weakening  every 
day  and  yet  shrinking  from  the  inevitable,  after  the  fashion 
of  human  nature  under  such  trying  conditions.  Out  of 
such  a  situation  little  positive  action  could  come,  and  the 
time  was  wasted  in  much  vain  debate.  Would  they  send 
an  expedition  to  Detroit  ?  A  wise  scheme  but,  after  much 
talk,  rejected.  England  was  prohibiting  our  fisheries  and 
restricting  the  trade  of  Southern  colonies.  It  was  obvious 
that  we  should  open  our  ports  to  the  world.  Nothing  was 
done.  Then  came  long  discussions  about  expeditions,  the 
boundary  line  of  Pennsylvania,  the  rights  of  Connecticut 


INDEPENDENCE  145 

in  Wyoming,  and  the  enlistment  of  negroes,  this  last  de 
cided  in  the  affirmative  despite  Southern  remonstrance. 
Meantime  war  was  in  progress  as  well  as  debate,  and  war 
could  not  be  postponed.  Washington,  observing  that  Eng 
land  was  replying  to  Bunker  Hill  with  increased  arma 
ments  and  paying  no  heed  to  petitions,  had  no  doubt  as 
to  the  realities  of  the  situation.  Independence  was  the 
only  thing  possible  now  that  fighting  had  begun,  and  to 
fail  to  say  what  was  meant  was  simply  ruinous.  Moreover, 
his  army  was  about  to  disappear,  for  terms  of  enlistment  had 
expired,  and  he  had  no  means  to  get  a  new  one.  Without 
an  army  a  siege  of  Boston  was  plainly  impossible,  and  so 
there  came  a  letter  to  Congress  from  their  commander-in- 
chief  which  roused  the  members  from  their  debates.  Here 
was  a  voice  to  which  they  must  listen,  and  a  condition  of 
affairs  which  they  must  face.  They  accordingly  appointed 
a  committee,  consisting  of  Franklin,  Lynch,  and  Harrison, 
to  visit  the  camp.  Three  men,  when  one  of  them  was 
Franklin,  made  a  better  executive  than  the  country  had 
yet  had,  and  the  result  was  soon  apparent.  On  October 
1 5th  the  committee  reached  the  camp,  where  Franklin, 
who  understood  the  facts,  had  no  difficulty  in  arranging 
matters  with  Washington.  A  scheme  was  agreed  upon 
for  a  new  army  of  twenty-three  thousand  men,  and  power 
given  the  general  to  enlist  them.  The  Congress  gave  its 
assent,  the  four  New  England  colonies  were  to  furnish  the 
men  and  the  money,  and  Washington  was  to  get  the  work 
done.  Meantime  the  Congress  itself  was  going  on  with  its 
debates  and  hesitations.  One  day  Rhode  Island  demanded 
a  navy,  and  after  much  struggle  vessels  were  authorized. 
Then  came  the  cold  fit  again.  Nothing  must  be  done  to 
irritate  England  or  spoil  the  chances  of  the  petition,  so 


146  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

no  prize  courts  were  established,  no  ports  were  opened, 
and  New  Hampshire,  when  everything  depended  upon 
New  England,  was  kept  waiting  a  month  for  authority  to 
establish  an  independent  government. 

Yet  under  all  the  doublings  and  delays  the  forces 
were  moving  forward.  The  pressure  for  decisive  action 
increased  steadily,  the  logic  of  independence  became  con 
stantly  more  relentless,  more  unavoidable.  Washington 
and  the  army  were  clearly  for  independence,  and  they  were 
now  a  power  no  longer  to  be  disregarded.  One  colony 
after  another  was  setting  up  a  government  for  itself,  and 
as  each  one  became  independent,  the  absurdity  of  the  cen 
tral  government  holding  back  while  each  of  the  several 
parts  moved  forward  was  strongly  manifested.  New 
England  had  broken  away  entirely.  The  Southern  col 
onies,  led  by  Virginia  and  mismanaged  by  their  governors, 
were  going  rapidly  in  the  same  direction.  The  resistance 
still  came  from  the  middle  colonies,  naturally  more  con 
servative,  restrained,  except  in  New  York,  by  loyal  gov 
ernors,  who,  like  William  Franklin  in  New  Jersey,  were  at 
once  politic  and  judicious.  Pennsylvania,  clinging  to  her 
mild  proprietary  government  of  Quakers  and  Germans, 
held  back  more  resolutely  than  any  other  and  sustained 
John  Dickinson  in  his  policy  of  inaction. 

But  the  party  of  delay  constantly  grew  weaker.  The 
news  from  England  was  an  argument  for  independence 
that  could  not  well  be  met.  Richard  Penn,  the  bearer  of 
the  olive-branch,  could  not  even  present  his  petition,  for 
the  King  would  not  see  him.  Chatham  and  Camden 
might  oppose,  other  Englishmen,  studying  the  accounts 
of  Bunker  Hill,  might  doubt,  but  the  King  had  no  mis 
givings.  George  meant  to  be  a  king,  and  the  idea  of 


INDEPENDENCE  149 

resistance  to  his  wishes  was  intolerable  to  him.  It  was 
something  to  be  crushed,  not  reasoned  with.  So  he  issued 
a  proclamation  declaring  the  Americans  rebels  and  trait 
ors,  who  were  to  be  put  down  and  punished.  To  carry 
out  his  plans,  ships,  expeditions,  and  armaments  were 
prepared,  and  the  King,  in  order  to  get  men,  sent  his 
agents  over  Europe  to  buy  soldiers  from  the  wretched 
German  princelings  who  lived  by  selling  their  subjects, 
or  from  anyone  else  who  was  ready  to  traffic  in  flesh  and 
blood.  It  was  not  a  pretty  transaction  nor  over-creditable 
to  a  great  fighting  people  like  the  English,  but  it  unques 
tionably  meant  business.  It  was  not  easy  to  go  on  arguing 
for  reconciliation  when  the  King  shut  the  door  on  the 
petitioners  and  denounced  them  as  traitors,  while  he  busied 
himself  in  hiring  mercenaries  to  put  them  down  by  force. 
Under  these  conditions  the  friends  of  Independence  urged 
their  cause  more  boldly,  and  the  majority  turned  to  their 
side,  but  now  they  waited  until  they  could  obtain  una 
nimity,  which  was  in  truth  something  worth  getting.  The 
change  in  the  opinion  of  Congress  was  shown  plainly  by 
the  change  in  their  measures.  They  applauded  the  vic 
tories  of  Montgomery,  they  took  steps  to  import  arms  and 
gunpowder,  and  to  export  provisions  to  pay  for  them  ; 
they  adopted  a  code  for  the  navy,  approved  Washington's 
capture  of  vessels,  and  issued  three  million  dollars  in  bills 
of  credit.  Most  important  of  all,  they  appointed  a  com 
mittee  on  Foreign  Relations,  the  first  step  toward  getting 
alliances  and  aid  from  other  nations.  These  were  genuine 
war  measures,  and  it  was  a  great  advance  for  Congress  to 
have  reached  the  point  of  recognizing  that  war  measures 
were  proper  in  order  to  carry  on  a  war.  They  were  so 
rilled,  indeed,  with  new-born  zeal  that,  after  having  held 


ISO 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


Washington  back  and  crippled  him  by  delays  and  by  lack  of 
support,  they  proceeded  to  demand  the  impossible  and  urge 
by  solemn  resolution  that  Boston  be  taken  at  once,  even 
if  the  town  were  destroyed.  This  was  a  good  deal  better 
than  being  left  without  any  government  at  all,  but  we  can 
imagine  how  trying  it  must  have  been  to  the  silent  soldier 
who  had  been  laboring  for  months  to  take  Boston,  and 


INDEPENDENCE  HALL,    PHILADELPHIA,    CHESTNUT  STREET  FRONT. 

who  now  answered  Congress  in  a  conclusive  and  severe 
manner  which  did  them  much  good. 

Far  stronger  in  its  effect  on  Congress  than  the  action 
of  the  King,  or  even  the  demands  of  the  army,  was  the 
change  in  public  sentiment,  which  was  the  result  of  many 
causes.  From  the  time  of  the  Stamp  Act  to  the  day  of 
Lexington  the  American  party  in  the  colonies  had  steadily 


INDEPENDENCE  151 

declared,  with  great  fervor  and  entire  honesty,  that  they 
had  no  thought  of  independence,  which  meant  separation 
from  the  empire.  They  protested  even  with  anger  that 
the  charge  that  they  aimed  at  any  such  result  was  the 
invention  of  their  enemies  and  made  to  injure  their 
cause.  When  the  first  Congress  assembled  this  was  the 
universal  feeling,  and  Washington  was  but  one  of  many 
who  asserted  it  strongly.  Here  and  there  was  a  man 
like  Samuel  Adams,  radical  by  nature,  and  very  keen  of 
perception,  who  saw  the  set  of  the  tide  ;  but  even  these 
men  said  nothing  and  agreed  to  the  views  held  by  the 
vast  majority.  The  change  started  at  Lexington.  When 
fighting  had  once  begun,  no  other  outcome  but  separa 
tion  or  complete  subjection  was  possible.  To  carry  their 
point  by  defeating  the  troops  of  Great  Britain  and  yet 
remain  an  integral  part  of  the  empire  was  out  of  the 
question.  At  the  distance  of  more  than  a  century  we 
see  this  very  plainly,  but  it  was  not  so  easily  understood 
at  the  time.  Washington  grasped  it  at  once,  and  when 
he  took  command  of  the  army  he  knew  that  the  only  issue 
must  be  a  complete  victory  for  one  side  or  the  other,  but 
Congress,  still  working  along  the  old  lines  of  reconciliation 
and  peace,  could  not  see  it  as  he  did,  and  hence  their  hesi 
tations.  They  still  thought  that  they  could  defeat  the 
King's  armies  and  remain  subjects  of  the  King.  Every 
day  that  passed,  however,  made  the  impossibility  of  this 
attitude  more  apparent.  Every  ship  that  came  from  Eng 
land  brought  news  which  stamped  this  idea  of  peace  and 
union  as  false,  and  each  colony  that  set  up  a  government 
for  itself  gave  the  lie  to  such  a  proposition. 

Outside    of   Congress   there   was   constant    discussion 
going  on  by  which  public  opinion  was  formed.     At  the 


152  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

outset  the  loyalists  had  many  able  writers,  chiefly  clergy 
men  of  the  Anglican  Church,  who  opposed  the  arguments 
so  vigorously  urged  in  support  of  the  American  claims. 
The  writers  on  the  American  side,  however,  not  only  pos 
sessed  abundant  ability  but  events  were  with  them.  Dick 
inson,  in  the  "  Farmer's  Letters,"  before  he  became  con 
servative  ;  Alexander  Hamilton,  in  his  replies  to  Samuel 
Seabury,  an  Episcopal  clergyman  and  author  of  the  able 
letters  of  the  Westchester  Farmer ;  John  Adams,  and 
many  lesser  men  had  done  much  in  shaping  public  senti 
ment.  The  satirists  and  the  versemen  were  generally  on 
the  American  side,  and  they  reached  the  people  through 
their  humor,  wit,  and  fancy.  Some  of  them,  like  Hop- 
kinson,  Freneau,  and  Trumbull,  were  clever  men,  who 
often  wrote  brilliantly  and  always  well,  and  their  excellent 
verses,  full  of  pith  and  point,  went  everywhere  and  con 
verted  many  a  reader  who  had  been  deaf  to  the  learned 
constitutional  and  political  arguments  which  poured  from 
the  press.  Newspapers  were  not  as  yet  a  power.  It 
was  through  pamphlets  that  the  printed  debate  before  the 
people  was  conducted,  and  it  \vas  well  and  amply  per 
formed  on  both  sides,  v 

The  same  change  which  is  apparent  in  Congress  is 
apparent  also  in  the  literature  *  of  this  crucial  time.  As 
events  hurried  on,  supplying  arguments  for  the  American 
side  and  forcing  the  American  party  from  mere  legal  op 
position  to  war,  separation,  and  independence,  the  tone  of 


*  In  all  I  have  to  say  about  the  literature  of  the  time  I  desire  to  express  my  obliga 
tion  in  the  fullest  measure  to  Professor  Tyler's  admirable  History  of  the  Literature  of 
the  Revolution.  This  is  particularly  the  case  in  regard  to  the  chapter  on  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence  from  the  literary  point  of  view,  which  is  not  only  admirable  but 
conclusive. 


INDEPENDENCE  153 

the  loyalist  writers  gets  lower,  and  many  of  them  left  or 
were  forced  to  leave  the  country.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  American  writers  grew  constantly  more  vigorous  and 
more  triumphant,  and  demanded  stronger  measures.  Thus 
public  opinion,  rapidly  changing  in  tone  in  the  winter  of 
1 775-76,  needed  but  the  right  man  speaking  the  right  word 
to  send  it  irresistibly  along  the  new  path.  It  was  just  at 
this  moment  that  John  Trumbull  published  his  satire  of 
McFingal,  and  the  sharp  hits  and  pungent  humor  of  the 
poem  caught  the  public  ear  and  helped  to  spur  on  the  lag 
gards  in  the  American  cause.  But  a  mightier  voice  was 
needed  than  this,  and  it,  too,  came  at  the  beginning  of  this 
new  and  fateful  year  of  1776.  It  gave  utterance  to  the 
popular  feeling,  it  put  into  words  what  the  average  man 
was  thinking  and  could  not  express  for  himself,  and  it  did 
this  with  a  force  and  energy  which  arrested  attention  in 
America,  and  travelling  across  seas,  made  men  over  there 
listen  too.  This  voice  crying  aloud  to  such  purpose  was 
not  that  of  an  American  but  of  an  Englishman.  The  writer 
was  Thomas  Paine,  staymaker,  privateersman,  exciseman, 
teacher,  adventurer,  and  his  pamphlet  was  called  "  Com 
mon  Sense."  Paine,  after  a  checkered  career  both  in  do 
mestic  and  official  life,  had  come  over  to  America  with  no 
capital  but  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Franklin.  He  got 
a  start  in  writing  for  the  newspapers  and  threw  himself 
into  the  life  about  him.  He  came  a  friend  to  the  English 
connection.  Then  looking  about  him  with  eyes  undimmed 
and  with  mind  unhampered  by  colonial  habits,  he  reached 
the  conclusion  in  the  course  of  a  year  that  independence 
was  not  merely  right  but  the  only  thing  possible.  So  with 
but  little  literary  experience  he  sat  him  down  and  wrote 
his  pamphlet.  He  first  argued  about  kingship  and  natural 


154          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

rights,  and  then  in  favor  of  independence.  Critics  have 
said  of  that  first  part  that  it  was  crude,  unreasoned,  and 
full  of  blunders,  for  Paine  was  not  learned.  Yet  in  that 
same  first  part  he  enunciated  the  great  principle  which 
lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  business,  which  James  Otis 
had  put  forward  years  before,  that  in  the  nature  of  things 
there  was  no  reason  for  kings,  and  every  reason  why  people 
should  rule  themselves.  And  this  was  just  what  this, 
quarrel  had  come  to,  so  that  it  needed  no  learning  but 
only  courage  and  common  sense  to  set  it  forth.  As  for 
the  second  part,  which  concerned  the  practical  question 
always  of  most  interest  to  men,  Paine  knew  his  subject 
thoroughly  and  he  argued  the  cause  of  independence  in 
a  bold,  convincing,  indeed  unanswerable,  fashion.  He 
put  forth  his  argument  in  a  strong,  effective  style,  roughly, 
plainly,  so  that  all  stopped  to  listen  and  all  understood. 
His  pamphlet  went  far  and  wide  with  magical  rapidity. 
It  appeared  in  every  form,  and  was  reprinted  and  sold  in 
every  colony  and  town  of  the  Atlantic  seaboard.  Pres 
ently  it  crossed  the  ocean,  was  translated  into  French,  and 
touched  with  unshrinking  hand  certain  chords  in  the  Old 
World  long  silent  but  now  beginning  to  quiver  into  life. 
In  the  colonies  alone  it  is  said  that  one  hundred  and 
twenty  thousand  copies  were  sold  in  three  months.  This 
means  that  almost  every  American  able  to  read,  had  read 
"  Common  Sense."  Its  effect  was  prodigious,  yet  with  all 
its  merits  it  is  a  mistake  to  glorify  it  as  having  convinced 
the  people  that  they  must  have  independence.  The  con 
victions  were  there  already,  made  slowly  by  events,  by 
the  long  discussion,  by  the  English  policy,  by  the  fighting 
around  Boston.  "  Common  Sense  "  may  have  converted 
many  doubters,  but  it  did  something  really  far  more  im- 


INDEPENDENCE 


155 


portant ;  it  gave  utterance  to  the  dumb  thoughts  of  the 
people  ;  it  set  forth  to  the  world,  with  nervous  energy, 
convictions  already  formed  ;  it  supplied  every  man  with 
the  words  and  the  arguments  to  explain  and  defend  the 
faith  that  was  in  him.  Many  Americans  were  thinking 
what  "  Common  Sense  "  said  with  so  much  power.  So 
the  pamphlet  marked  an  epoch,  was  a  very  memorable 
production,  and  from 
the  time  of  its  publica 
tion  the  tide  slowly  set 
ting  in  the  direction  of 
independence  began  to 
race,  with  devouring 
swiftness,  to  the  high- 
water  mark. 

As  the  winter  wore 
away  and  spring  began, 
Congress,  still  lingering 
behind  the  people,  con 
tinued  to  adopt  war 
like  measures  but  did 
nothing  for  independ 
ence.  The  central  col 
onies  still  hung  back, 

although  the  movement  for  independent  provincial  gov 
ernments  went  on  unchecked,  and  the  action  in  that 
direction  of  each  separate  colony  brought  nearer  like 
action  on  the  part  of  the  continent.  The  rising  of  the 
Highlanders  in  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk  under  Sir 
John  Johnson,  easily  crushed  by  Schuyler  ;  a  similar  ris 
ing  of  the  Highlanders  in  North  Carolina,  defeated  in 
a  sharp  fight  by  the  Minute  Men  under  Caswell  ;  the 


THOMAS  PAINE. 
From paintiiig  by  C.  W.  Peale,  1783. 


156  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

evacuation  of  Boston,  all  drove  events  forward  and  forced 
the  hands  of  Congress.  The  measures  of  Congress  stiff 
ened.  More  men  and  more  money  were  voted,  the 
country  was  divided  into  military  departments,  and  Silas 
Deane  was  appointed  an  agent  to  France.  Still  they 
shrank  from  facing  what  they  knew  must  be  faced,  but 
the  friends  of  independence  could  no  longer  be  kept  silent. 
Even  if  Pennsylvania,  not  without  great  effort,  was  kept 
true  to  Dickinson  and  peace,  the  other  colonies  were  com 
ing  into  line,  and  the  American  party,  virtually  led  by 
John  Adams,  began  to  argue  for  independence  on  almost 
every  debate  which  sprang  up.  In  some  way  the  real  issue 
appeared  on  every  occasion,  and  the  efforts  to  avoid  it,  or 
to  pretend  that  it  was  not  there,  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 
On  May  loth  John  Adams  carried  his  resolution  to  in 
struct  all  the  colonies  that  had  not  yet  done  so  to  set  up 
independent  governments,  a  heavy  blow  to  the  Pennsyl 
vania  peace  party  and  a  long  step  toward  national  inde 
pendence.  In  the  same  month  the  Virginia  convention, 
which  established  the  State  government,  instructed  the 
delegates  in  Congress  to  urge  and  support  independence. 
With  this  decision  from  the  oldest  and  most  powerful 
colony,  backed  as  it  was  by  Massachusetts  and  New  Eng 
land,  the  final  conflict  in  Congress  could  no  longer  be  post 
poned.  The  American  party  was  in  the  ascendant,  and 
with  the  instructions  from  Virginia  would  wait  no  longer. 
The  other  colonies,  even  those  in  the  centre,  were  now 
all  in  line,  or  fast  coming  there,  and  Congress  could  not 
hesitate  further.  On  June  8th  Richard  Henry  Lee,  in 
the  name  of  Virginia,  moved  that  the  colonies  were,  and 
of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  independent,  and  that  their 
allegiance  to  the  British  Crown  ought  to  be  dissolved 


INDEPENDENCE 


157 


For  two  days  the  question  was  earnestly  debated,  and 
then  it  was  decided,  although  the  resolution  clearly  had  a 
majority,  to  postpone  the  debate  for  three  weeks,  during 
which  time  plans  were  to  be  prepared  for  a  confederation 
and  for  treaties  with  foreign  powers,  and  the  members 
were  to  have  opportunity  to  consult  their  constituents,  so 
that  the  great  act,  if  possible,  might  be  adopted  with 
unanimity.  To  avoid  any  delay  a  committee  was  appointed 
to  draft  a  declaration  to  accompany  the  resolution  for 
independence.  This  committee 
consisted  of  Jefferson,  John 
Adams,  Franklin,  Roger  Sher 
man,  and  Robert  Livingston, 
and  to  Jefferson  was  intrusted 
the  work  of  preparing  the  draft. 

The  three  weeks  slipped  rap 
idly  by.  Congress  heard  from 
its  constituents,  and  there  was  no 
mistaking  what  they  said.  New 
England  and  the  South  were  al 
ready  for  independence.  New 
York,  menaced  on  the  north  by 
savages  and  on  the  south  by  the  speedy  coming  of  a 
powerful  English  fleet,  wheeled  into  line.  Maryland  and 
Delaware  joined  readily  and  easily.  New  Jersey  called 
a  State  convention  to  establish  a  State  government, 
arrested  their  royal  Governor,  William  Franklin,  and  elect 
ed  five  stanch  friends  of  independence  to  Congress.  Even 
Pennsylvania,  after  long  debates  and  many  misgivings, 
agreed  to  sustain  Congress  if  it  voted  for  independence. 

All  was  ready  for  action  when  Congress  met  on  July 
i  st.     There  were  fifty  members  present,    and    they    were 


ROGER  SHERMAN. 
From  the  painting  by  Ralph  Earle,  1787. 


158  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  best  and  ablest  men  America  could  produce.  It  was 
the  zenith  of  the  Continental  Congress.  However  through 
inevitable  causes  it  afterward  weakened,  however  ill  suited 
it  was  by  its  constitution  for  executive  functions,  it  now 
faced  the  task  for  which  it  was  perfectly  fitted.  No  wiser 
or  more  patriotic  body  of  men  ever  met  a  revolutionary 
crisis  or  took  the  fate  of  a  nation  in  their  hands  with  a 
deeper  and  finer  sense  of  the  heavy  responsibility  rest 
ing  upon  them.  All  that  they  did  was  grave  and  serious. 
They  faced  the  great  duty  before  them  calmly,  but  with  a 
profound  sense  of  all  that  it  meant. 

A  letter  from  Washington  was  read  showing  how 
small  his  army  was  and  how  badly  armed.  A  despatch 
from  Lee  announced  the  arrival  of  the  British  fleet  and 
army  at  Charleston.  Unmoved  and  firm,  Congress  passed 
to  the  order  of  the  day  and  went  into  committee  of  the 
whole  to  consider  the  resolution  "respecting  independ 
ence."  The  mover,  Richard  Henry  Lee,  was  absent  at 
the  Virginia  convention.  There  was  a  pause,  and  then 
John  Adams  arose  and  made  the  great  speech  which 
caused  Jefferson  to  call  him  the  Colossus  of  Debate,  and 
which,  unreported  as  it  was,  lives  in  tradition  as  one  of 
the  memorable  feats  of  oratory.  With  all  the  pent-up  feel 
ing  gathered  through  the  years  when  he  was  looked  on 
with  suspicion  and  distrust,  with  all  the  fervor  of  an  earn 
est  nature  and  of  burning  conviction,  he  poured  forth  the 
arguments  which  Jie  had  thought  of  for  months,  and  which 
sprang  from  his  lips  full-armed.  There  was  no  need  of 
further  speech  on  that  side  after  this  great  outburst,  but 
Dickinson  defended  the  position  he  had  long  held,  and 
others  entered  into  the  discussion.  When  the  vote  was 
taken,  New  York,  favoring  independence,  but  still  with- 


INDEPENDENCE 


159 


out  absolute  instructions,  refused  to  vote.  South  Caro 
lina,  instructed  but  still  hesitating,  voted  with  Pennsyl 
vania  in  the  negative.  The  other  nine  colonies  voted  for 
independence.  Then  the  committee  rose,  and  on  the 
request  of  South  Carolina  the  final  vote  was  postponed 
until  the  next  day. 

When  they  met  on  July  2d  they  listened  to  another 
letter  from  Washington,  telling  them  that  Howe,  with 
some  fifty  ships  carrying  troops,  had  appeared  off  Sandy 
Hook.  There  was  no  quiver  in  the  letter;  he  hoped  for 
reinforcements,  but  he  was  ready  to  face  the  great  odds, 
weak  as  he  was.  No  news  came  from  Charleston,  which 
might  have  been  falling  before  the  British  fire  even  as 
they  talked.  The  enemy  was  at  the  gates,  but  there  was 
no  wavering  and  their  cour 
age  rose  under  the  dangers 
upon  them.  With  inde 
pendence  declared,  they 
would  have  a  cause  to  fight 
for.  Without  it  they  were 
beating  the  air.  So  they 
went  to  a  vote.  New  York 
was,  as  before,  for  inde 
pendence,  but  still  unable 
to  vote.  South  Carolina, 
knowing  only  that  her  cap 
ital  was  in  danger,  and  still 
in  ignorance  that  the  bat 
tle  had  been  won,  voted 

for  independence.  Delaware  was  no  longer  divided,  and 
Pennsylvania,  by  the  intentional  absence  of  Dickinson 
and  Morris,  was  free  to  vote  with  the  rest.  So  twelve 


ROBERT  MORRIS. 
From  a  painting  by  Edward  Savage,  ijg 


160  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

colonies  voted  unanimously  for  independence,  thirteen 
agreed  to  it,  and  the  resolution  passed.  Henceforth  there 
were  to  be  no  colonies  from  Maine  to  Florida  ;  a  nation 
was  born  and  stood  up  to  prove  its  right  to  live.  The 
great  step  had  been  taken.  It  now  remained  to  set  forth 
to  the  world  the  reasons  for  what  had  been  done  there  in 
Philadelphia  on  July  2,  1776. 

Thomas  Jefferson,  to  whom  this  momentous  work  had 
been  intrusted,  came  a  young  man  to  Congress,  preceded 
by  a  decided  reputation  as  a  man  of  ability  and  a  vigorous 
and  felicitous  writer.  His  engaging  manners  and  obvi 
ously  great  talents  secured  to  him  immediately  the  regard 
and  affection  of  his  fellow-members.  He  was  at  once 
placed  on  a  committee  to  draft  the  declaration  of  the 
reasons  for  taking  up  arms,  and  then  on  one  to  reply  to 
the  propositions  of  Lord  North.  So  well  did  he  do  his 
part,  and  so  much  did  he  impress  his  associates,  that 
when  the  resolution  for  independence  was  referred,  he  was 
chosen  to  stand  at  the  head  of  the  committee  and  to  him 
was  intrusted  the  work  of  drafting  the  Declaration.  No 
happier  choice  could  have  been  made.  It  was  in  its  way 
as  wise  and  fortunate  as  the  selection  of  Washington  to 
lead  the  armies.  This  was  not  because  Jefferson  was  the 
ablest  man  in  the  Congress.  In  intellectual  power  and 
brilliancy  Franklin  surpassed  him  and  John  Adams,  who, 
like  Franklin,  was  on  the  committee,  was  a  stronger 
character,  a  better  lawyer,  and  a  much  more  learned  man. 
But  for  this  particular  work,  so  momentous  to  America, 
Jefferson  was  better  adapted  than  any  other  of  the  able 
men  who  separated  America  from  England.  He  was, 
above  all  things,  the  child  of  his  time.  He  had  the  eager, 
open  mind,  the  robust  optimism,  the  desire  for  change  so 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON, 
from  the  painting  by  Charles  Willson  Peale,  1791. 


INDEPENDENCE 


163 


characteristic  of  those  memorable  years  with  which  the 
eighteenth  century  closed.  Instead  of  fearing  innovation, 
he  welcomed  it  as  a  good  in  itself,  and  novelty  always 
appealed  to  him,  whether  it  appeared  in  the  form  of  a 
plough  or  a  government.  He  was  in  full  and  utter  sym 
pathy  with  his  time  and  with  the  great  forces  then  begin- 


VIEW  OF  INDEPENDENCE  HALL   FROM  THE  PARK  SIDE. 

ning  to  stir  into  life.  Others  might  act  from  convictions 
on  the  question  of  taxation  ;  others  still  because  they  felt 
that  separation  from  England  was  the  only  way  to  save 
their  liberty  ;  but  to  Jefferson  independence  had  come  to 
mean  the  right  of  the  people  to  rule.  He  had  learned 
rapidly  in  the  stirring  times  through  which  he  had  passed. 
The  old  habits  of  thought  and  customs  of  politics  had 


164 


THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


dropped  away  from  him,  and  he  was  filled  with  the  spirit 
of  democracy,  that  new  spirit  which  a  few  years  later 
was  to  convulse  Europe.  Compared  with  the  men  about 
him,  Jefferson  was  an  extremist  and  a  radical,  more  ex 
treme  in  his  theories  than  they  guessed,  or  perhaps  than 


STAIRWAY  IN  INDEPENDENCE  HALL. 

even  he  himself  conceived.  Compared  with  the  men  of 
the  French  Revolution  he  was  an  ultraconservative,  and 
yet  the  spirit  which  moved  them  all  was  the  same.  He 
believed,  as  they  believed,  that  the  right  to  rule  lay  with 
the  whole  people  and  not  with  one  man  or  with  a  selected 
class.  When  he  sat  down  to  write  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  it  was  the  spirit  of  the  age,  the  faith  in 


•B 


INDEPENDENCE 


167 


the  future,  and  in  a  larger  liberty  for  mankind  which  fired 
his  brain  and  guided  his  pen. 

The  result  was  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  The 
draft  was  submitted  to  Franklin  and  Adams,  who  made 
a  few  slight  changes.  The  influence  of  the  South  struck 
out  the  paragraph  against  slavery.  It  was  read  on  July 
3d.  A  debate  ensued  in  which  John  Adams  led  as  in 
that  on  the  resolution,  and  on  July  4th  the  Congress 
agreed  to  the  Declaration  and  authorized  the  President 


ROOM  IN  INDEPENDENCE  HALL   IN   WHICH  THE  DECLARATION   WAS 

SIGNED. 

and  Secretary  to  sign,  attest,  and  publish  it.  The  formal 
signing  by  the  members  did  not  take  place  until  August, 
and  some  signatures  were  given  even  later.  But  the  July 
4th  when  the  Declaration  was  adopted  by  Congress  was 


168  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

*•• 

the  day  which  the  American  people  have  set  apart  and 
held  sacred  to  the  memory  of  a  great  deed.. 

The  Declaration  when  published  was  read  to  the  army 
under  Washington  and  received  by  the  soldiers  with  con 
tent.  It  was  a  satisfaction  to  them  to  have  the  reality 
for  which  they  were  fighting  put  into  words  and  officially 
declared.  It  was  read  also  formally  and  with  some  cere 
mony  in  public  places,  in  all  the  chief  towns  of  the  colo 
nies,  and  was.  received  by  the  people  cordially  and  heartily, 
but  without  excitement.  There  was  no  reason  why  it 
should  have  called  forth  much  feeling,  for  it  merely  em 
bodied  public  opinion  already  made  up,  and  was  expected 
by  the  loyalist  minority.  Yet  despite  its  general  accept 
ance,  which  showed  its  political  strength,  it  was  a  great 
and  memorable  document.  From  that  day  to  this  it  has 
been  listened  to  with  reverence  by  a  people  who  have 
grown  to  be  a  great  nation,  and  equally  from  that  day 
to  this  it  has  been  the  subject  of  severe  criticism.  The 
reverence  is  right,  the  criticism  misplaced  and  founded  on 
misunderstanding. 

The  Declaration  is  divided  into  two  parts  :  First,  the 
statement  of  certain  general  principles  of  the  rights  of  men 
and  peoples,  and,  secondly,  an  attack  on  George  III.  as  a 
tyrant,  setting  forth,  in  a  series  of  propositions,  the  wrongs 
done  by  him  to  the  Americans  which  justified  them  in 
rebellion.  Criticism  has  been  directed  first  against  the 
attack  on  the  King,  then  to  the  originality  of  the  doctrines 
enunciated,  then  against  the  statement  of  the  rights  of 
man,  Jefferson's  "self-evident  truths,"  and  finally  against 
the  style. 

The  last  criticism  is  easily  disposed  of.  Year  after 
year,  for  more  than  a  century,  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 


READING  THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE  TO  THE  TROOPS  IN  NEW  YORK, 
\SSEMBLED  ON  THE  COMMON,  NOW  CITY  HALL  PARK,  OLD  ST.  PAUL"S  IN  THE  BACK 
GROUND. 


INDEPENDENCE  171 

pendence  has  been  solemnly  read  in  every  city,  town,  and 
hamlet  of  the  United  States  to  thousands  of  Americans 
who  have  heard  it  over  and  over  again,  and  who  listen  to 
it  in  reverent  silence  and  rejoice  that  it  is  theirs  to  read. 
If  it  had  been  badly  written,  the  most  robust  patriotism 
would  be  incapable  of  this  habit.  False  rhetoric  or  turgid 
sentences  would  have  been  their  own  death-warrant,  and 
the  pervading  American  sense  of  humor  would  have  seen 
to  its  execution.  The  mere  fact  that  Jefferson's  words 
have  stood  successfully  this  endless  repetition  is  infallible 
proof  that  the  Declaration  has  the  true  and  high  literary 
quality  which  alone  could  have  preserved  through  such 
trials  its  impressiveness  and  its  savor.  To  those  \vho  will 
study  the  Declaration  carefully  from  the  literary  side,  it  is 
soon  apparent  that  the  English  is  fine,  the  tone  noble  and 
dignified,  and  the  style  strong,  clear,  and  imposing. 


0-?*^*'^ 


(j¥' 
y-^6£#*~y 

(  ^""^ <*&y*~^<sr~~  v  (  ^rx^-> 

<^^,*m^ 

Jo 


FROM  THE  RESOLUTIONS  ADOPTED  BY  CONGRESS,  JULY j,  7776. 
Fac-simile  of  a  fart  of  the  original  draft  belonging  to  the  Emmet  collection  in  the  Lenox  Library. 


172  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Passing  from  the  form  to  the  substance,  critics  as  far 
apart  as  John  Adams  and  Lord  John  Russell  have  con 
demned  the  attack  on  George  III.  and  the  charge  that 
he  was  a  tyrant  as  unjust,  bitter,  and  almost  absurd.  Yet, 
as  the  years  have  gone  by,  it  has  become  very  plain  that 
George  III.  was  really  making  a  final  and  very  serious 
attempt  to  restore  the  royal  authority,  and  was  seeking 
by  shrewder  and  more  insidious  methods  to  regain  what 
Charles  I.  had  lost.  He  was  steadily  following  out  his 
mother's  behest  and  trying  to  be  a  king.  If  the  revolt 
had  not  come  in  America  it  would  have  come  in  England, 
and  England  would  have  defeated  his  plans  and  broken 
his  power  as  his  American  colonies  succeeded  in  doing. 
When  the  best  of  modern  English  historians,  like  Lecky 
and  Green,  admit  this  in  regard  to  George  III.,  we  need 
not  question  that  Jefferson's  instinct  was  a  true  one  when 
he  drew  the  indictment  of  his  sovereign.  But  Jefferson 
was  right  on  broader  grounds  than  this.  He  was  declar 
ing  something  much  more  far-reaching  than  the  right  of 
the  colonies  to  separate  from  England.  He  was  announc 
ing  to  the  world  the  right  of  the  people  to  rule  themselves, 
and  that  no  one  man  was  entitled  to  be  king,  but  that 
every  man  had  a  title  to  kingship  in  virtue  of  his  man 
hood.  The  logical  step  from  this  proposition  was  not  to 
assail  the  people  or  Parliament  of  England,  which  would 
have  been  a  contradiction  of  his  own  argument,  but  the 
man  who  represented  the  old-time  theory  of  kingship  and 
from  whom  as  part  of  a  system,  the  evils  he  complained 
of  came.  Jefferson  was  instinctively  right  when  he  struck 
at  the  kingly  power,  for  that  was  the  real  point  of  conflict. 

John  Adams's  criticism  that  the  doctrines  and  princi 
ples  set  forth  were  not  new,  but  had  been  heard  before 


TEARING  DOWN  THE  LEADEN  STATUE  OF  GEORGE  III.,  ON  BOWLING 
GREEN,  NEW  YORK,  TO  CELEBRATE  THE  SIGNING  OF  THE  DECLARATION 
OF  INDEPENDENCE, 

The  Iead7uas  later  moulded  into  bullets  for  the  American  Army. 


INDEPENDENCE  175 

from  James  Otis  down  through  all  the  long  controversy, 
was  simply  inept.  The  doctrines  and  principles,  of  course, 
were  not  new.  That  was  their  strength.  Jefferson  was  not 
a  Frenchman  bursting  suddenly  through  the  tyranny  of  cen 
turies,  to  whom  the  language  of  freedom  and  of  constitu 
tional  liberty  was  an  unknown  tongue.  He  was  one  of 
that  great  race  which  for  five  hundred  years,  from  Magna 
Charta  to  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  from  Runny- 
mede  to  Philadelphia,  had  been  slowly,  painfully,  and  very 
strenuously  building  up  a  fabric  of  personal  liberty  and 
free  government.  In  all  those  long  discussions,  in  all 
those  bitter  struggles,  the  words  and  principles  of  freedom 
and  human  rights  had  been  developed  and  made  familiar. 
This  was  the  language  which  Jefferson  spoke.  Its  glory 
was  that  it  was  not  new,  and  that  the  people  to  whom  he 
spoke  understood  it,  and  all  it  meant,  because  it  was  a  part 
of  their  inheritance,  like  their  mother-tongue.  In  vivid 
phrases  he  set  forth  what  his  people  felt,  knew,  and  wanted 
said.  It  was  part  of  his  genius  that  he  did  so.  He  was 
not  a  man  of  action,  but  a  man  of  imagination,  of  ideas 
and  sympathies.  He  was  a  failure  as  the  war  Governor 
of  Virginia.  The  greatest  and  most  adroit  of  politicians 
and  organizers,  when  dangers  from  abroad  threatened  him 
as  President,  he  was  timid,  hesitating,  and  inadequate. 
But  when  he  was  summoned  to  declare  the  purposes  of 
the  American  people  in  the  face  of  the  world  and  at  the 
bar  of  history,  he  came  to  the  work  which  no  other  man 
could  have  done  so  well.  His  imagination ;  his  keen, 
sure  glance  into  the  future  ;  his  intense  human  sympathies 
came  into  full  play,  and  he  spoke  his  message  so  that  it 
went  home  to  the  hearts  of  his  people  with  an  unerring 
flight. 


176  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

The  last  and  best-known  criticism  is  the  bold  epigram 
of  Rufus  Choate,  most  brilliant  of  American  advocates, 
that  the  Declaration  of  Independence  is  made  up  of 
"glittering  generalities."  Again  the  criticism  proceeds 
on  a  misunderstanding.  The  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence  in  its  famous  opening  sentences  is  made  up  of  gen 
eralities,  and  rightly.  That  they  glitter  is  proof  of  the 
writer's  skill  and  judgment.  It  was  not  the  place  for 
careful  argument  and  solid  reasoning.  Jefferson  was  set 
ting  forth  the  reasons  for  a  revolution,  asserting  a  great, 
new  principle,  for  which  men  were  to  be  asked  to  die. 
His  task  was  to  make  it  all  as  simple,  yet  as  splendid  as 
possible.  He  was  to  tell  men  that  they  must  separate 
from  the  great  empire  of  England  and  govern  themselves, 
and  he  must  do  it  in  such  a  way  that  he  who  ran  might 
not  only  read,  but  comprehend.  It  is  the  glory  of  Jeffer 
son  that  he  did  just  this,  and  it  was  no  fault  of  his  that 
the  South  dimmed  one  of  his  glowing  sentences  by  strik 
ing  out  his  condemnation  of  human  slavery. 

In  the  Declaration  of  Independence  Jefferson  uttered, 
in  a  noble  and  enduring  manner,  what  was  stirring  in  the 
hearts  of  his  people.  The  "  Marseillaise  "  is  not  great 
poetry,  nor  the  air  to  which  it  was  set  the  greatest  music. 
But  no  one  can  hear  that  song  and  not  feel  his  pulses 
beat  quicker  and  his  blood  course  more  swiftly  through 
his  veins.  It  is  because  the  author  of  it  flung  into  his 
lyric  the  spirit  of  a  great  time,  and  the  dreams  and  aspira 
tions  of  a  great  people.  Hope,  faith,  patriotism,  victory, 
all  cry  out  to  us  in  that  mighty  hymn  of  the  Revolution, 
.and  no  one  can  listen  to  it  unmoved.  In  more  sober  fash 
ion,  after  the  manner  of  his  race,  Jefferson  declared  the 
hopes,  beliefs,  and  aspirations  of  the  American  people. 


THOMAS  JEFFERSON   WRITING   THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. 


INDEPENDENCE  179 

But  the  spirit  of  the  time  is  there  in  every  line  and  every 
sentence,  saying  to  all  men  ;  a  people  has  risen  up  in  the 
West,  they  are  weary  of  kings,  they  can  rule  themselves, 
they  will  tear  down  the  old  landmarks,  they  will  let  loose 
a  new  force  upon  the  world,  and  with  the  wilderness  and 
the  savage  at  their  jbacks  they  will  even  do  battle  for  the 
faith  that  is  in  them. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   FIGHT    FOR   THE    HUDSON 

WHILE  Congress  was  coming  to  a  decision  upon 
the  great  question  of  Independence,  the  war 
vvas  entering  upon  its  second  stage,  and,  as  it 
proved,  that  in  which  the  American  Revolution  narrowly 
escaped  shipwreck.  When  the  British  undertook  to  co 
erce  the  colonies  by  force,  they  expected  little  resistance. 
They  did  not  measure  at  all  the  task  before  them,  and 
they  were,  therefore,  taken  by  surprise  when  the  people 
rose  up  and  sprang  upon  them.  The  British  governors 
were  expelled  one  after  another  without  any  serious  con 
flict,  and  the  colonies  passed  rapidly  and  easily  to  the  con 
dition  of  independent  States.  The  political  management 
of  the  king  and  his  ministers  was  so  clumsy  that  a  firm 
union  of  all  the  colonies  was  formed  before  their  very 
eyes,  and  this  one  absolutely  essential  condition  of  Amer 
ican  success  was  made  sure  at  an  early  day.  In  a  military 
way  they  had  fared  no  better.  Their  ill-considered  raid 
on  Concord  had  resulted  in  a  disorderly  retreat.  Their 
victory  at  Bunker  Hill  had  been  purchased  at  an  enor 
mous  sacrifice  of  life,  and  had  only  served  to  encourage 
the  Americans.  They  had  been  compelled,  by  the  superior 
generalship  of  Washington,  to  evacuate  Boston,  and  their 

blundering  attack  on  Charleston  had  been  repelled  with 

i  so 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   HUDSON  181 

loss  and  humiliation.  All  the  solid  advantages,  both  mili 
tary  and  political,  during  the  first  year  of  revolution,  had 
been  wholly  on  the  side  of  the  Americans.  This'Sas  due 
to  the  wilful  ignorance  of  the  English  as  t@  their  oppo 
nents,  whom  they  despised,  and  who  f(ft;  this  reason  took 
them  unawares  and  defeated  them,  and  to  the  further  fact 
that  a  people  in  arms  was  a  new  force  of  great  power, 
upon  which  neither  they  nor  anyone  else  had  calculated. 

These  conditions  could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
endure.  The  British,  recovering  from  their  surprise,  pro 
ceeded  to  make  arrangements  for  conquering  their  revolted 
provinces  in  a  manner  commensurate  to  the  work  before 
them,  the  seriousness  of  which  they  had  so  entirely  under 
estimated.  George  III.,  who  took  a  deep  personal  inter 
est  in  the  war,  which,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  he  felt 
to  be  the  test  of  his  schemes  and  the  trial  of  his  power, 
set  his  agents  running  over  Europe  to  buy  soldiers  from 
anybody  who  had  men  to  sell. 

His  first  effort  was  in  Russia.  Gunning,  the  English 
Minister,  interpreted  some  flowery  compliments  and  sound 
ing  protestations  of  friendship  to  mean  that  Catherine 
would  give  England  twenty  thousand  soldiers  to  put 
down  the  rebellious  colonists.  When  the  demand  was 
actually  made,  there  were  more  fine  words,  much  talk 
and  much  evasion,  but  it  finally  appeared  that  Catherine 
had  no  notion  of  giving  any  troops  at  all,  and  the  end 
was  a  refusal.  Hence,  much  disappointment  in  England, 
where  the  Russian  soldiers  were  confidently  expected. 
George  fared  no  better  in  Holland  when  he  asked  for  the 
Scotch  Brigade.  The  Prince  of  Orange  was  sufficiently 
ready,  but  the  States-General  hesitated,  and  the  only  result 
was  a  polite  offer  to  let  England  have  the  brigade  provided 


182  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

they  should  not  be  called  upon  to  serve  out  of  Europe, 
which  was  equivalent  to  a  refusal.  Among  the  little  states 
of  Germany,  George  had  better  luck.  Some  of  the  petty 
princes  offered  troops  voluntarily,  and  in  others  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  making  a  bargain.  The  wretched  grand  dukes, 
electors,  princes,  and  other  serene  persons  exacted  a  heavy 
price  for  the  men  whom  they  sold,  but  still  England  got 
the  men,  and  in  large  numbers,  especially  from  Brunswick 
and  Hesse  Cassel.  Frederick  of  Prussia,  on  the  other 
hand,  as  a  man  and  a  German,  regarded  with  feelings  akin 
to  loathing  this  sale  of  men  by  the  lesser  German  princes. 
At  a  later  time  he  would  not  even  permit  England's  mer 
cenaries  to  cross  his  territory,  for  he  had  no  sympathy  with 
George,  and  being  not  only  a  great  man  but  a  clear-sighted 
and  efficient  one,  he  looked  with  contempt  on  English 
incompetence  and  blundering,  and  predicted  the  success 
of  the  colonies.  Why  a  brave  and  powerful  people  like 
the  English  should  have  bought  soldiers  to  fight  their 
battles  in  a  civil  war  is  not  easy  now  to  understand.  It 
was,  however,  due  to  the  general  inefficiency  which  then 
prevailed  in  British  administration,  and  was  a  very  cost 
ly  expedient  apart  from  the  money  actually  spent,  for  it 
injured  England  in  European  opinion,  encouraged  and 
justified  the  colonies  in  seeking  foreign  aid,  and  smoothed 
the  path  for  American  diplomacy.  It  also  spurred  on  the 
Americans  to  fight  harder  because  foreign  mercenaries 
were  employed  against  them,  and  it  embittered  their  feel 
ings  toward  the  mother-country.  The  allies  obtained  by 
the  British  Ministry  in  Europe  were,  nevertheless,  in  the 
highest  degree  creditable  and  desirable,  compared  to  those 
whom  they  sought  and  procured  in  America  itself.  That 
they  should  have  enlisted,  paid,  and  organized  regiments 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE   HUDSON  183 

of  American  loyalists,  was  proper  enough,  but  when  they 
made  alliances  with  the  Indians  and  turned  them  loose  on 
the  frontier  settlements  and  against  American  armies,  they 
took  a  step  which  nothing  could  palliate  or  excuse.  To 
make  allies  of  cruel  fighting  savages,  and  set  them  upon 
men  of  their  own  race  and  blood,  was  something  which 
could  not  be  justified  and  it  met  with  its  fit  reward.  The 
Americans  knew  well  what  Indian  warfare  meant,  and 
when  England  sent  Indians  on  the  war-path  against  them, 
her  action  roused  a  burning  hatred  which  nothing  could 
appease.  If  it  was  the  King's  plan  to  drive  the  Americans 
to  desperation  and  make  the  retention  of  the  colonies  ab 
solutely  hopeless,  this  alliance  with  the  Indians  was  the 
surest  way  to  accomplish  that  result.  Yet  without  her 
Hessians,  Indians,  and  loyalists  it  must  be  admitted  Eng 
land  would  not  have  had  even  a  chance,  for  she  seemed 
unable  to  furnish  any  adequate  number  of  troops  herself. 
It  was  all  part  of  the  amazing  blundering  which  character 
ized  English  administration  in  the  American  Revolution, 
and  for  which  we  have  no  explanation  except  in  the  fact 
that  the  King  was  undertaking  the  work  of  government 
and  carefully  excluded  all  men  of  the  first  order  from  his 
councils. 

From  the  American  point  of  view  at  that  time,  how 
ever,  these  considerations,  as  well  as  the  ultimate  effect 
of  England's  policy  in  getting  allies,  were  by  no  means 
apparent.  All  they  saw  was  that  the  men  had  been  pro 
cured,  and  that  powerful  armies  and  fleets  were  coming 
against  them.  This  was  what  Washington  was  obliged 
to  face.  It  was  no  use  discussing  the  morals  or  the  policy 
of  buying  Germans.  There  they  were  under  the  English 
flag,  and  they  were  brought  to  America  to  fight. 


1 84  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Washington  certainly  was  under  no  illusions.  He 
knew  that  England  would  make  a  great  effort  and  was  a 
great  power.  He  knew,  too,  that  New  York  would  be 
the  first  object  of  British  attack.  It  was  the  essential 
strategic  point,  without  which  any  attempt  to  cut  off  New 
England  from  the  rest  of  the  colonies,  by  controlling  the 
line  of  the  Hudson,  would  be  utterly  barren.  Without 
any  delay  he  quitted  Boston,  the  scene  of  his  victory  on 
March  i7th,  and  was  in  New  York  by  April  i3th,  bring 
ing  with  him  all  the  troops  he  could  gather.  The  outlook 
there  was  dark  enough.  The  city  was  undefended  ;  most 
of  his  troops  were  new  recruits  ;  there  was  a  powerful 
Tory  party,  and  Tryon,  the  last  British  Governor,  was 
actively  intriguing  and  conspiring  with  the  loyalists  from 
his  station  on  a  man-of-war.  Congress,  on  the  other  hand, 
was  struggling  with  the  question  of  independence  and 
did  little  to  aid  him,  while  the  provincial  committees  had 
neither  the  experience  nor  as  yet  the  determination  of 
those  he  had  dealt  with  in  New  England.  Nevertheless, 
all  that  man  could  do  was  done.  Defensive  works  were 
completed  or  erected  on  Brooklyn  Heights,  on  Manhattan, 
at  Kingsbridge,  and  along  the  East  and  Hudson  Rivers. 
The  army  was  drilled  and  disciplined  after  a  fashion  ;  the 
Tory  plottings  were  checked,  and  every  preparation  was 
made  which  energy  and  ability,  ill  supported,  could  devise. 

Yet  the  result  of  all  these  labors  when  the  hour  of 
conflict  approached  and  the  British  army  had  arrived,  was 
disheartening.  Washington  had  been  able  to  gather  only 
17,000  men.  Nearly  7,000  of  these  were  sick  or  on  fur 
lough,  and  he  thus  had  fit  for  duty  not  more  than  10,000 
men  to  cover  his  necessarily  extensive  line  of  works. 
With  this  small  force,  ill  armed,  inexperienced,  and  ill. 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   HUDSON  185 

provided,  he  was  called  upon  to  face  and  do  battle  with  a 
British  army  of  31,000  men  now  assembled  on  Staten  Isl 
and,  well-disciplined  regulars,  thoroughly  equipped  and 
provided,  and  supported  by  a  powerful  fleet  to  which 
Washington  had  nothing  to  oppose.  It  seemed  madness 
to  fight  against  such  odds  and  run  the  risk  of  almost  cer 
tain  defeat.  But  Washington  looked  beyond  the  present 
hour  and  the  immediate  military  situation.  As  usual, 
political  considerations  had  to  be  taken  into  account. 
To  give  up  New  York  without  a  struggle,  and  thus  have 
saved  his  army  intact  by  an  immediate  retreat  and  without 
fighting,  however  wise  from  a  military  point  of  view, 
would  have  chilled  and  depressed  the  country  to  a  peril 
ous  degree,  and  to  carry  on  a  popular  war  the  public  spirit 
must  be  maintained.  More  important  than  this  even  was 
the  danger  which  Washington  saw  plainly  far  away  to  the 
north,  where  Carleton  was  pressing  down  the  line  of  the 
lakes.  If  Sir  William  Howe  and  his  army  succeeded  in 
advancing  rapidly  and  meeting  him  before  winter  set  in,  it 
would  mean  the  division  of  the  northern  colonies  by  the 
British  forces  and  a  disaster  to  the  Americans  which 
could  probably  never  be  repaired.  Even  the  sacrifice  of 
an  army  would  be  better  than  this.  So  Washington  de 
termined  to  hold  his  ground  and  fight.  He  said  that  he 
hoped  to  make  a  good  defence,  but  he  was  not  blind  to 
the  enormous  risk,  to  the  impossibility  almost,  of  holding 
his  long  line  of  posts  with  so  few7  men  and  with  an  enemy 
in  command  of  the  sea.  Even  while  he  wrote  cheerfully 
as  to  holding  his  positions  he  exhibited  the  condition  of 
the  army  to  Congress  in  the  plainest  terms,  and  constantly 
demanded  more  men.  But  even  if  he  had  known  defeat 
to  be  certain  he  still  had  to  consider  the  wishes  of  Con- 


1 86 


THE  STORY  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


THE  BATTLE   OF  LONG  ISLAND. 

Front  a  British  map  of  ijjb,  showing  the  positions  of  the  American  and  British  armies.     [This  map  contains 
a  few  topographical  errors,  but  in  the  main  the  disposition  of  the  forces  is  correctly  indicated.} 

gress  and  the  state  of  public  opinion,  and  he  likewise  felt 
that  present  defeat  would  result  in  a  larger  ultimate  vic 
tory,  if  by  delay  he  could  prevent  the  junction  of  the  main 
British  army  with  the  forces  from  the  north. 

Washington  was  unable  to  tell  just  where  the  attack 
would  come,  which  compelled  him  to  spread  out  his 
small  force  in  order  to  cover  so  far  as  possible  every 


;•;,:;•"      ,          ,,',  jiSIji^ 


GENERAL    NATHANIEL    GREENE. 
From  the  fainting  by  Charles  ll'illson  Prate,  1783. 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   HUDSON  189 

point.     This  put  him  at  an  additional  disadvantage  when 

the    British   moved,  as   they  did  on  August   22d,  landing 

15,000  men  on  Long  Island,  and  following  this  up  on  the 

25th  with  the  German  division  under 

Heister,    with    forty    cannon.     The 

Americans  had  about  8,000  men,  half 

in   the  works  at    Brooklyn   and    half 

outside  to  meet  the    British   and  de 

fend  the  approaches.     The  whole  po 

sition  was  untenable  in  the  long  run 

because    the    English    controlled   the 

sea,  and  yet  New  York  could  not  be     ?*"*  ™utt 

J 


by    the   Sons    of  the    Revolution, 

~* 


held  at  all  if  Brooklyn  Heights  were        £~*£X 
in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.      It  was 

a  choice  of  evils,  and  it  is  easier  to  point  out  Washing 
ton's  military  error  in  trying  to  hold  Long  Island  than 
to  say  what  he  should  have  done.  It  was  also  a  serious 
mistake  to  divide  the  troops  and  leave  half  outside,  and 
to  this  mistake,  for  which  the  commander-in-chief  was 
finally  responsible,  was  added  a  series  of  misfortunes  and 
small  blunders.  The  command  on  Long  Island  had  been 
intrusted  to  General  Greene,  the  best  officer  Washington 
had,  but  just  before  the  British  landed,  Greene  was  strick 
en  with  a  violent  fever,  and  the  command  passed  first  to 
Sullivan  and  then  to  Putnam.  Both  were  brave  men  ; 
neither  was  a  soldier  of  great  ability  or  a  strategist,  and 
they  were  alike  ignorant  of  the  country  which  Greene 
knew  by  heart.  Sullivan  held  the  outposts  while  Putnam 
remained  at  Brooklyn  Heights  and  did  not  come  out  when 
the  fighting  began.  The  British  fleet  opened  a  heavy  fire 
on  the  New  York  works  early  on  August  27th.  Mean 
time  the  British  forces  skilfully  divided,  and  well  guided 


190 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


during  the  previous  day  and  night,  had  got  round  to  Sul 
livan's  rear  by  undefended  roads.  Sullivan,  hemmed  in 
on  all  sides,  made  a  vigorous  effort  to  retreat,  but  it  was 

useless.  Some  of  the 
Americans,  by  desperate 
fighting,  broke  through, 
but  many  were  captured, 
including  Sullivan  him- 

o 

self.  Lord  Sterling,  in 
command  of  the  other 
outlying  American  force, 
fared  almost  as  ill  as  Sul 
livan.  Attacked  on  both 
sides,  he  had  no  line  of 
retreat,  except  across  Go- 
wanus  Creek.  His  men 
made  a  gallant  stand,  and 
most  of  them  succeeded 
in  crossing  the  creek,  but 

Sterling  himself  and  many  of  his  division  were  taken 
prisoners.  The  Americans  outflanked,  outgeneralled,  and 
outnumbered  four  to  one,  were  badly  beaten  in  these  two 
actions.  They  lost  970  men  in  killed  and  wounded,  and 
1,077  captured,  while  the  British  loss  was  but  400. 

Washington,  when  he  heard  of  the  British  landing, 
had  sent  six  regiments  to  Brooklyn,  and  came  over  on  the 
day  of  the  action  only  to  witness  with  anguish  the  utter 
rout  of  the  detachments  under  Sullivan  and  Sterling. 
The  situation  produced  by  this  defeat  was  grave  in  the 
extreme,  for  the  troops  were  thoroughly  demoralized  by 
their  losses,  and  many  of  the  militia  actually  deserted.  It 
looked  as  if  the  American  army  were  doomed  But  the 


GENERAL   ISRAEL   PUTNAM. 

From  a  portrait   by  //.  /.   Tompson,   after  a  pencil-sketch 
from  life  by  John  Trumbull. 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   HUDSON 


191 


British    delayed, 
and,  mindful   of 
Bunker  Hill,  in 
stead  of  at  once 
assaulting      the 
Brooklyn   i  n  - 
t  r  e  n  c  h  m  e  n  t  s , 
which  alone  pro 
tected    the     shattered 
American    army,    they 
broke   ground    for  a    siege. 
This  gave  Washington  time, 
and  time  was  all  he  needed.    He  brought 
over  reinforcements,  encouraged  his  men 
and  strengthened  his  works.    But  he  did 
not  mean  to  fight  there  except  as  a  last 
resource,  for  he  had  no  idea  of  stak 
ing  his  whole  army  on  a  single  ac 
tion  against  overwhelming  odds,  if 
he  could  avoid  it.     While  the  men 
labored   on  the  intrenchments,  he 
quietly  gathered  boats,  and  seeing 
on  the  29th  that  the  British  meant 
to  come  on  his  rear  with  their  fleet, 
he  embarked  his  whole  army  that 
night   and  crossed    successfully  to 
New  York.     It  was  a  masterly  re 
treat.       In    the    face    of   a   strong 

enemy  lying  within  gunshot,  with  a  hostile  fleet  close  at 
hand,  he  put  9,000  men  into  boats,  ferried  them  across  a 
broad  stream  swept  by  strong  tides  and  currents,  and  left 
behind  only  a  few  heavy  guns.  The  wind  was  light  and  a 


BATTLE  PASS,    PROSPECT  PARK, 
BROOKLYN. 

Sho-wing  a  fart  of  the  battle-field. 
The  tablet  designates  the  line  of  defence. 


192 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


thick  mist  helped  'to  cover  the  movement.  *  Washington, 
in  the  saddle  and  on  foot  for  forty-eight  hours,  watched 
over  everything,  and  was  the  last  to  leave.  As  he  fol 
lowed  his  heavily  laden  boats  through  the  kindly  mist  and 
darkness  he  must  have  felt  a  sense  of  profound  relief,  for 
he  had  grasped  a  fortunate  chance  and  had  rescued  his 
army  from  an  almost  hopeless  position.  The  American 


. 


PRESENT  VIEW  FROM  OLD  FORT  PUTNAM  (.NOW  FORT  GREENE),  BROOKLYN. 
This  fort  formed  a  fart  of  the  defences  on  Long  Island. 


forces  had  been  beaten  in  two  heavy  skirmishes,  but  the 
American  army  had  escaped.  It  was  possible  to  make 
the  raw  militia  who  had  been  defeated  in  their  first  open 
action  into  veterans,  for  they  lacked  nothing  toward  becom 
ing  good  soldiers  except  experience.  But  if  the  only  Ameri 
can  army  in  the  field  had  been  destroyed  at  the  very  outset 
of  the  contest,  the  Revolution  would  have  been  in  great 
peril.  Washington's  one  thought  was  to  hold  his  army 
together  and  fight  as  often  as  he  could,  but  whatever  hap- 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   HUDSON  195 

pened,  that  army  which  he  commanded  must  never  be  dis 
solved.  He  had  fought  in  an  impossible  position,  been 
beaten,  and  saved  his  army  from  the  brink  of  destruction, 
taking  full  advantage  of  the  mistakes  of  his  opponents. 
Now,  on  Manhattan  Island,  he  faced  the  enemy  once 
more,  ready  to  fight  again. * 

Some  time  after  the  Battle  of  Long  Island  Jay  wrote 
that  he  had  often  thought  during  the  previous  spring  that 
it  would  be  best  to  destroy  New  York,  desolate  all  the 
country  about  it,  and  withdraw  up  the  river.  This  sugges 
tion  came  from  Greene  at  the  moment,  and  after  the  retreat 
from  Long  Island  Washington  took  it  up  and  submitted 
it  to  Congress.  From  a  military  point  of  view  the  de 
struction  of  the  city  was  the  just  conception  of  an  able 
general.  It  sounded  desperate,  but  it  was  really  the  wisest 
thing  to  do.  If  carried  out  it  would  have  forced  the  Brit 
ish  to  abandon  New  York  and  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson, 
it  would  have  left  them  on  the  edge  of  winter  without 
quarters,  and  in  the  end  probably  would  have  shortened 
the  war.  But  it  was  too  strong  a  measure  for  Congress, 
and  Washington  was  obliged  to  drop  the  idea.  As  the 
city  was  clearly  untenable  with  the  forces  at  his  command, 
there  was  no  further  resource  but  retreat,  and  on  Septem 
ber  icth,  although  a  majority  of  his  officers  were  still  loath 
to  abandon  the  town,  Washington  began  his  preparations 


*  The  best  statement  in  regard  to  the  Battle  of  Long  Island  by  a  professional  sol 
dier  is  that  of  General  Carrington,  U.  S.  A.,  in  his  "  Battles  of  the  American  Revolu 
tion."  The  whole  chapter  should  be  carefully  studied.  I  can  only  quote  here  a  few 
lines.  General  Carrington  says  (p.  212):  "The  Battle  of  Long  Island  had  to  be 
fought.  .  .  .  The  defence  was  doomed  to  be  a  failure  from  the  first,  independent 
of  the  co-operation  of  a  naval  force.  .  .  .  Washington  was  wise  in  his  purpose 
'  to  make  the  acquisition  as  costly  as  possible  to  his  adversary.'  .  .  .  The  people 
of  the  country  demanded  that  New  York  should  be  held  to  the  last  possible  moment. " 


196  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

for  withdrawal.  While  he  was  thus  engaged,  Howe,  on 
the  1 4th,  repeated  the  Long  Island  manoeuvre,  intending 
to  threaten  the  city  in  front  and  on  the  North  River  with 
the  fleet,  while  with  his  army  crossing  the  East  River  and 
landing  on  the  left  flank  he  could  cut  off  and  destroy  the 
American  army.  In  accordance  with  his  plan,  Howe,  on 
September  I5th,  landed  at  Kip's  Bay  and  drove  the  mili 
tia  posted  there  in  headlong  flight.  Washington  hearing 
the  firing,  rode  to  the  landing,  only  to  see  his  men  fleeing 
in  all  directions.  The  sight  of  their  panic  and  cowardice 
was  too  much  for  him.  The  fierce  fighting  spirit  which 
was  part  of  his  nature  broke  through  his  usually  stern  self- 
control  in  a  storm  of  rage.  He  rode  in  among  the  fugi 
tives  and  made  desperate  efforts  to  rally  them.  He  ex 
posed  himself  recklessly  to  death  or  capture,  and  was 
almost  dragged  from  the  field  by  his  officers.  Yet  despite 
this  disaster  he  managed  to  get  his  troops  together,  and 
although  Putnam  with  the  rear-guard  had  a  narrow  escape, 
Washington  finally  succeeded  in  bringing  his  whole  army 
safely  to  Harlem  Heights.  While  the  victorious  Howe 
took  possession  of  New  York,  and  proceeded  to  look 
about  him,  Washington  intrenched  himself  strongly  on 
the  Heights.  He  also  sent  out  detachments  under  Col 
onel  Knowlton,  the  hero  of  the  rail  fence  at  Bunker  Hill, 
and  Major  Leitch,  and  attacked  the  British  light  troops 
who  were  in  an  advanced  position.  The  light  troops  were 
defeated  and  forced  back  to  the  main  line,  but  the  Amer 
icans,  who  fought  well,  lost  both  Knowlton  and  Leitch. 
That  Washington,  with  a  demoralized  army,  in  the  midst 
of  disaster  and  retreat  should  have  assumed  the  offensive 
and  made  a  successful  attack,  is  an  example  of  his  power 
and  tenacity,  of  which  many  instances  were  yet  to  come. 


THE  FIGHT  FOR  THE  HUDSON 


197 


It  was  this  iron  determination  to  fight  at  every  opportunity, 
whether  after  victory  or  defeat,  which  enabled  him  con 
stantly  to  check  and  delay  the  British,  and  what  was  far  more 
important,  turned  his  raw  militia  into  an  army  of  steady, 
disciplined  fighters  with  a  blind  confidence  in  their  chief. 
Howe,  having  considered  the  situation,  decided  that 


THE  JUMEL   MANSION,    WASHINGTON  HEIGHTS,   NEW   YORK  CITY. 

For  a  time  Washington's  Head-quarters. 

the  Harlem  Heights  were  too  strong  for  a  front  attack, 
and  set  about  a  repetition  of  the  flanking  movements  of 
Long  Island  and  Kip's  Bay.  His  control  of  the  water 
with  the  fleet,  and  his  superior  numbers,  enabled  him  to 
do  this  with  success.  Washington,  seeing  just  what  was 
intended,  for  he  perfectly  understood  by  this  time  the 
British  generals,  who  were  not  given  to  complicated  intel 
lectual  operations,  had  no  mind  to  be  shut  up  on  Man- 


198  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

hattan  Island.  So  he  occupied  the  passes,  and  when 
Howe — it  was  now  October  i4th — attempted  to  land,  he 
held  him  back  until  he  had  withdrawn  his  army  to  the 
right  bank  of  the  Bronx,  holding  a  strong  line  from  Ford- 
ham  to  White  Plains.  After  five  days  the  British  ad 
vanced  again,  meeting  Glover's  brigade,  who  skirmished 
vigorously  and  fell  slowly  back  to  the  main  army.  By 
the  28th  the  two  armies  were  face  to  face,  and  Howe 
prepared  to  fight  a  great  battle  and  end  the  war.  They 
undertook  first  to  turn  the  American  left,  and  made  a 
heavy  attack  on  Chatterton's  Hill.  Twice  they  were 
repulsed  and  driven  back  with  severe  loss.  Rahl,  with 
his  Germans,  meantime  crossed  the  Bronx  and  turned 
the  American  right,  so  that  General  McDougal  was  forced 
to  abandon  Chatterton's  Hill  and  fall  back,  fighting  stub 
bornly,  to  the  lines  at  White  Plains.  The  great  and  de 
cisive  battle  failed  to  come  off  and  the  Americans,  more 
over,  were  learning  to  fight  in  the  open.  In  this  action 
they  lost  one  hundred  and  thirty  killed  and  wounded,  the 
British  two  hundred  and  thirty-one,  something  very  dif 
ferent  from  the  Long  Island  result.  The  next  day  Howe 
considered  the  propriety  of  an  assault,  but  thought  the 
works  too  strong.  Then  Lord  Percy  arrived  with  rein 
forcements,  but  it  stormed  on  the  following  day,  and  then 
Washington  quietly  withdrew,  leaving  the  British  looking 
at  the  works,  and  took  up  a  new  and  stronger  position  at 
Newcastle. 

While  Washington  was  awaiting  a  fresh  attack,  the 
enemy  began  to  move  to  Dobb's  Ferry,  whither  Howe 
himself  went  in  person  on  November  5th.  The  Ameri 
cans,  suspecting  a  movement  into  New  Jersey,  sent 
troops  across  the  river,  leaving  a  small  force  at  Peekskill 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   HUDSON 


199 


to  guard  the  approach  to  the  Highlands.  But  Howe's 
object  was  not  what  the  Americans  supposed.  He  went 
back  for  the  purpose  of  capturing  Fort  Washington.  This 
fort  and  Fort  Lee,  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  Hudson, 


SITE    OF   FORT    WASHINGTON,    NEW    YORK    CITY,    LOOKING    TOWARD    FORT 

LEE. 

were  intended  to  command  the  river,  a  purpose  for  which 
they  were  quite  inadequate.  Washington,  with  correct 
military  instinct,  wished  to  abandon  both,  but  especially 
Fort  Washington,  when  he  retreated  from  Manhattan. 
He  gave  way,  however,  to  the  judgment  of  a  council  of 
war,  and  especially  to  the  opinion  of  Greene,  who  declared 


200  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

that  the  position  was  impregnable.  His  yielding  to  his 
council  was  a  mistake  on  this,  as  on  other  occasions,  and 
his  too  great  deference  to  the  opinion  of  his  officers  in  the 
early  years  of  the  war,  when  existing  conditions  very  likely 
forced  him  to  subordinate  his  own  views  to  those  of  others, 
was  usually  unfortunate.  In  this  instance  the  correctness 
of  his  own  judgment  and  his  error  in  not  standing  to  it 
were  soon  and  painfully  shown.  Greene  was  no  doubt 
mistaken  in  declaring  the  fort  impregnable,  but  if  it  had 
been  it  could  not  have  withstood  treachery.  It  is  now 
known,  through  a  letter  which  came  to  light  some  twenty 
years  ago,  that  William  Demont,  the  adjutant  of  Colonel 
Magaw,  went  into  the  British  lines  and  furnished  Lord 
Percy  with  complete  plans  of  the  works  and  a  statement 
of  the  armament  and  garrison.  This,  as  we  now  know, 
was  the  news  wliich  took  Howe  and  his  army  back  to  New 
York.  Washington  started  for  the  fort  as  soon  as  he 
learned  of  the  British  movement,  but  was  turned  back  by 
word  that  the  garrison  were  in  high  spirits,  and  confident 
of  maintaining  the  place.  They  had  no  idea  that  they 
had  been  betrayed,  and  Howe,  thoroughly  informed,  made 
a  skilful  attack  at  every  point,  and  carried  the  outworks. 
The  Americans,  driven  into  the  central  fort,  were  exposed 
on  all  sides.  They  could  not  even  hold  their  ground  until 
night,  at  which  time  Washington  promised  to  come  to 
their  relief,  desperate  as  the  attempt  must  have  been. 
They  therefore  surrendered  on  that  day  and  over  2,000 
men  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  British,  who  had  lost  454 
in  the  assault,  despite  the  advantages  which  Demont's  trea 
son  gave  them. 

After  the  fall  of  Fort  Washington,  Howe  crossed  over 
into  New  Jersey,  and  the  first  campaign  for  the  Fludson 


THE   FIGHT   FOR  THE   HUDSON  201 

came  to  an  end.  The  Americans  had  been  beaten  in 
nearly  every  engagement,  and  they  had  suffered  a  heavy 
loss  by  the  capture  of  the  fort.  Yet  the  British  campaign 
had  none  the  less  failed.  With  his  undisciplined  troops 
broken  and  demoralized  by  defeat,  Washington  had  out 
manoeuvred  his  adversary.  He  had  avoided  a  pitched  bat 
tle,  he  had  moved  from  one  strong  position  to  another, 
and,  although  so  inferior  in  numbers,  he  had  forced  Howe 
to  undertake  slow  and  time-wasting  flank  movements. 
Howe  consumed  two  months  in  advancing  thirty  miles. 
This  in  itself  was  defeat,  for  winter  was  upon  him  and  Carle- 
ton  had  been  forced  to  retire  from  Crown  Point  after  Ar 
nold's  brilliant  and  desperate  naval  fight  on  the  lake  which 
was  a  Pyrrhic  victory  for  the  British.  The  line  of  the 
Hudson  was  still  in  American  control,  and  the  American 
army,  much  as  it  had  suffered,  was  still  in  existence.  The 
British  incompetence  and  the  ability  of  Washington  were 
signally  shown  during  this  period  of  unbroken  British  suc 
cess,  when  all  the  odds  were  in  favor  of  Howe  and  against 
his  opponent. 


CHAPTER    IX 

TRENTON    AND    PRINCETON 

IT  is  easy  to  see  now  that  while  the  British  had  been 
highly  successful  in  their  immediate  objects,  they  had 
been  defeated  in  the  greater  object  upon  which  the 
fate  of  the  war  really  turned.  It  is  easy,  too,  to  appreciate 
the  ability  with  which  Washington  had  fought,  losing 
fights  in  such  a  way  as  to  defeat  the  essential  purpose  of 
the  English  campaign.  But  at  the  time  none  of  these 
things  were  apparent  and  they  were  not  understood.  At 
the  moment  the  country  saw  only  unbroken  defeat,  and 
the  spirit  and  hope  of  the  Americans  sank.  The  darkest 
hour  of  the  Revolution  had  come. 

Fort  Washington  fell  on  November  i6th.  This  ren 
dered  Fort  Lee  useless,  and  Washington  ordered  its  im 
mediate  evacuation.  While  the  necessary  preparations 
were  being  made,  the  enemy  landed  and  Greene  was 
forced  to  withdraw  in  great  haste,  saving  his  men,  but  los 
ing  everything  else.  He  at  once  joined  the  main  army, 
and  it  was  well  he  could  do  so,  for  the  situation  was  crit 
ical  in  the  extreme.  Washington  was  now  in  an  open  flat 
country,  where  he  could  not  slip  from  one  strong  position 
to  another,  and  hold  the  British  in  check  as  he  had  done  on 
the  Hudson.  His  army,  too,  was  going  to  pieces.  The 
continued  reverses  had  increased  desertions,  and  the  curse 


\ 


TRENTON   AND   PRINCETON  205 

of  short  enlistments,  due  to  the  lack  of  foresight  and  de 
termination  in  Congress,  was  telling  with  deadly  effect. 
When  their  terms  expired,  the  militia  could  not  be  in 
duced  to  stay,  but  departed  incontinently  to  their  homes. 
Washington  sent  urgent  orders  to  Lee,  who  had  been  left 
behind  in  the  Highlands  with  3,000  men,  to  join  him,  but 
Lee,  who  thought  Washington  "  damnably  deficient,"  and 
longed  for  an  independent  command,  disobeyed  orders, 
lingered  carelessly,  and  talked  largely  about  attacking  the 
enemy  in  the  rear.  WThile  thus  usefully  engaged  he  was 
picked  up  by  a  British  scouting  party  and  made  a  prisoner. 
At  the  time  this  incident  was  thought  to  be  a  disaster,  for 
the  colonial  idea  that  Lee  was  a  great  man,  solely  because 
he  was  an  Englishman,  was  still  prevalent.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  was  a  piece  of  good  fortune,  because  although 
a  clever  man  he  was  a  mere  critic  and  fault-finder,  and 
was  an  endless  trouble  to  the  American  general. 

Washington,  holding  up  as  best  he  might  against  all 
these  reverses,  and  with  hardly  3,000  men  now  left  in  his 
army,  was  forced  to  retreat.  He  moved  rapidly  and  cau 
tiously,  holding  his  little  force  together  and  watching  the 
enemy.  The  British  came  on,  unresisted,  to  Trenton  and 
contemplated  an  advance  to  Philadelphia.  There  all  was 
panic,  and  the  people  began  to  leave  the  city.  In  New 
Jersey  many  persons  entered  the  British  lines  to  accept 
Howe's  amnesty,  but  this  movement,  which  might  easily 
have  gathered  fatal  proportions  in  the  terror  and  depres 
sion  which  then  reigned,  was  stopped  by  the  action  of 
the  British  themselves.  Parties  of  British  and  Hessian 
soldiers  roamed  over  the  country,  burned  and  pillaged 
houses,  killed  non-combatants,  ravished  women,  and  car 
ried  off  young  girls.  These  outrages  made  the  people 


IN  COUNCIL  OF  SAFETY? 

PHILADELPHIA,  December 8,  1776. 
S  I  R, 

XH  E  R  E  is  certain  intelligence  of  General  Howe's  army  being 
rday  on  its  march  from  Brunfirick  to  Princetown,  which  puts  it 
beyond  a  doubt  that  he  intends  for  this  city. — This  glorious  oppor 
tunity  of  fignalizing  hbnfelf  in  defence  of  our  country,  and  fecimng 
the  Rights  of  America  forever,  will  be  feized  by  every  man  who  has 
a  fpark  of  patriotic  fire  in  his  bofom.  We  entreat  you  to  march 
the  Militia  under  your  command  with  all  poflrble  expedition  to  this 
city,  and  bring  with  you  as  many  waggons  as  you  can  poflibly  pro 
cure,  which  youare  hereby  authorized  to  imprefs,  if  they  cannot  be 
had  otherwife — Delay  not  a  moment,  it  may  be  fatal  and  fubjc (I  you 
and  all  you  hold  mod  dear  to  the  ruffian  hands  of  the  enemy,  whofe 
cruelties  are  without  diftin&lon  and  unequalled. 

By  Order  of  the  Council, 
DAVID    RITTENHOUSE,  Vice-Prefident. 

T'oike  COLONELS  or  COMMANDING 
OFFICERS  of  the  refptftive  Battalions  of 
this  STATR, 

TWO     O'CLOCK,    P.M. 

THE  Enemy  art  at  Trenton,  and  all  the  City  Militia  are 
marched  to  meet  them. 

Reductdfrorn  a  broadside  issued  by  the  Council  of  Safety 


TRENTON   AND    PRINCETON  207 

desperate,  and  they  stopped  seeking  amnesty  and  took 
up  arms. 

All  this  alarm,  moreover,  fortunately  came  to  nothing. 
The  winter  was  so  advanced  that  the  British  decided  not 
to  go  to  Philadelphia,  where  the  panic  nevertheless  contin 
ued  for  some  days,  and  after  Washington  had  been  forced 
to  cross  to  the  west  bank  of  the  Delaware,  Congress, 
thoroughly  frightened,  adjourned  to  Baltimore.  Before 
going,  however,  they  passed  a  resolution  giving  Washing 
ton  "  full  power  to  order  and  direct  all  things  relative  to 
the  department  and  to  the  operation  of  the  war."  Thus 
they  put  all  that  was  left  of  the  Revolution  into  his  hands 
and  made  him  dictator.  They  could  not  have  done  a 
wiser  act,  but  they  were  imposing  a  terrible  burden  upon 
their  general. 

Never,  indeed,  did  a  dictator  find  himself  in  greater 
straits.  In  all  directions  he  had  been  sending  for  men  while 
by  every  method  he  sought  to  hold  those  he  already  had. 
Yet,  as  fast  as  he  gathered  in  new  troops  others  left  him, 
for  the  bane  of  short  enlistments  poisoned  everything.  He 
was  not  only  fighting  a  civil  war,  but  he  had  to  make  his 
army  as  he  fought,  and  even  for  that  he  had  only  these 
shifting  sands  to  build  on.  "  They  come,"  he  wrote  of  the 
militia,  "you  cannot  tell  when,  and  act  you  cannot  tell 
where,  consume  your  provisions,  waste  your  stores,  and 
leave  you  at  last  at  a  critical  moment."  He  was  as  near 
desperation  as  he  ever  came  in  his  life.  We  can  read  it 
all  now  in  his  letters,  but  he  showed  nothing  of  it  to  his 
men.  Schuyler,  always  faithful,  sent  him  some  troops. 
Sullivan,  too,  came  with  those  whom  Lee  had  tried  to  lead, 
and  then  it  was  found  that  the  terms  of  these  very  troops 
were  expiring  and  that  by  the  New  Year  Washington 


208  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

would  be  left  with  only  fifteen  hundred  men,  although 
at  the  moment  he  had  between  five  and  six  thousand  still 
with  him  and  in  outlying  detachments.  Opposed  to  him 
were  the  British,  30,000  strong,  with- head-quarters  in  New 
York,  and  strong  divisions  cantoned  in  the  New  Jersey 
towns.  Outnumbered  six  to  one,  ill  provided  in  every 
way,  and  with  a  dissolving  army,  it  was  a  terrible  situation 
to  face  and  conquer.  But  Washington  rose  to  the  height 
of  the  occasion.  Under  the  strain  his  full  greatness  came 
out.  No  more  yielding  to  councils  now,  no  more  modest 
submission  of  his  own  opinion  to  that  of  others.  A  lesser 
man,  knowing  that  the  British  had  suspended  operations, 
would  have  drawn  his  army  together  and  tried  to  house  and 
recruit  it  through  the  winter.  Washington,  with  his  firm 
grasp  of  all  the  military  and  political  conditions,  knew  that 
he  ought  to  fight,  and  determined  to  do  so.  He  accordingly 
resolved  to  attack  Trenton,  where  Colonel  Rahl  was  posted 
with  twelve  hundred  Hessians.  To  assure  success,  he 
made  every  arrangement  for  other  attacks  to  be  combined 
with  that  of  his  own  force,  and  they  all  alike  came  to 
nothing.  Putnam  was  to  come  up  from  Philadelphia,  and 
did  not  move.  Ewing  was  to  cross  near  Trenton,  but 
thought  it  a  bad  night,  and  gave  it  up.  Gates  had  already 
departed  from  Bristol,  whence  he  was  to  support  Wash 
ington,  and  had  gone  after  Congress  to  get  support  for 
himself.  Cadwalader  came  down  'to  the  river,  thought 
that  it  was  running  too  fiercely,  and  did  not  cross.  They 
all  failed.  But  Washington  did  not  fail.  Neither  river 
nor  storm  could  turn  him,  for  he  was  going  to  fight.  On 
the  night  of  Christmas  he  marched  down  to  the  Delaware 
with  twenty-four  hundred  men,  who  left  bloody  footprints 
behind  them  on  the  snow.  The  boats  were  ready. 


WASHINGTON'S   TROOPS  DISEMBARKING   ON  THE   TRENTON  SHORE   OF  THE 

DELAWARE  RIVER. 


TRENTON   AND   PRINCETON 


211 


Glover's  Marblehead  fishermen  manned  them,  and  through 
floating  ice,  against  a  strong  current,  in  the  bitter  cold,  the 
troops  were  ferried  over.  It  was  four  o'clock  before  they 
were  formed  on  the  Jersey  side.  They  were  late  in  land 
ing,  they  had  still  six  miles  to  march  and  a  driving  storm 
of  sleet  and  snow  beat  in  their  faces.  Washington 
formed  his  little  force  in  two  columns,  one  under  Greene, 


THE  POINT  AT  WHICH  WASHINGTON  CROSSED  THE  DEL  A  WARE  RIVER. 

(As  it  tww  appears.) 

one  under  Sullivan.  As  they  marched  rapidly  onward 
Sullivan  sent  word  that  the  muskets  were  wet  and  could 
not  be  fired.  "Tell  your  General,"  said  Washington,  "to 
use  the  bayonet,  for  the  town  must  be  taken."  So  they 
pressed  forward,  the  gray  winter  light  slowly  brightening 
around  them. 

In  the  town  to  which  they  were  bound  all  was  comfort. 
While  the  Americans  had  been  rowing  across  a  swollen 
river  amid  floating  ice  and  marching  with  blood-stained 


212  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

steps  through  storm  and  darkness,  the  Hessians  had  been 
celebrating  a  hearty  German  Christmas.  They  had  ca 
roused  late  and  without  fear.  Rahl  had  been  warned  that 
Washington  was  planning  an  attack,  but  contempt  for 
their  foe  was  again  uppermost  in  the  British  councils,  and 
he  laughed  and  paid  no  heed.  From  their  comfortable 
slumbers  and  warm  beds,  with  the  memories  of  their 
Christmas  feasting  still  with  them,  these  poor  Germans 
were  roused  to  meet  a  fierce  assault  from  men  ragged,  in 
deed,  but  desperate,  with  all  the  courage  of  their  race  ris 
ing  high  in  the  darkest  hour,  and  led  by  a  great  soldier 
who  meant  to  fight. 

Washington  and  Greene  came  down  the  Pennington 
road  driving  the  pickets  before  them.  As  they  advanced 
they  heard  the  cheers  of  Sullivan's  men,  as  with  Stark  in 
the  van  they  charged  up  from  the  river.  The  Hessians 
poured  out  from  their  barracks,  were  forced  back  by  a 
fierce  bayonet  charge,  and  then,  trying  to  escape  by  the 
Brunswick  road,  were  cut  off  by  Hand's  riflemen,  thrown 
forward  for  that  purpose  by  Washington.  Rahl,  half- 
dressed,  tried  to  rally  his  men,  and  was  shot  down.  It 
was  all  over  in  less  than  an  hour.  The  well-aimed  blow 
had  been  struck  so  justly  and  so  fiercely  that  the  Hessians 
had  no  chance.  About  two  hundred  escaped  ;  some  thirty 
were  killed,  and  nine  hundred  and  eighteen,  with  all  their 
cannon,  equipage,  and  plunder,  surrendered  at  discretion 
as  prisoners  of  war.  The  Americans  lost  two  killed  and 
six  wounded. 

The  news  of  the  victory  spread  fast.  To  convince  the 
people  of  what  had  happened,  the  Hessian  prisoners  were 
marched  through  the  streets  of  Philadelphia,  and  a  Hes 
sian  flag  was  sent  to  Baltimore  to  hang  in  the  Hall  of 


THE   SURPRISE  AT   TRENTON. 
poured  out  from  their   barracks   but   lucre  forced  back  by  a  fierce   bayonet  charge. 


TRENTON   AND    PRINCETON 


215 


Congress.  The  spirits  of  the  people  rose  with  a  great  re 
bound.  The  cloud  of  depression  which  rested  upon  the 
country  was  lifted,  and  hope  was  again  felt  everywhere. 
Troops  came  in  from  Pennsylvania  and  New  Jersey,  and 
the  New  England  men  agreed  to  stay  on  after  the  expi 
ration  of  their  term  of  enlistment. 


OLD  KING  STREET  (NOW  WARREN  STREET),  TRENTON. 

On  the  rig-he  is  a  building'  which  -was  occupied  by  the  Hessians.  On  the  site  of  the  monument,  in  the 
background,  -was  stationed  the  American  artillery,  -which  commanded  the  street  and  Queen  Street,  along -which 
the  Hessians  were  quartered. 

The  blow  struck  by  Washington  fell  heavily  upon  the 
British.  Even  with  their  powerful  army  they  could  not 
afford  to  lose  a  thousand  men  at  a  stroke,  nor  would  their 
prestige  bear  such  sudden  disaster.  It  was  clear  even  to 
the  sluggish  mind  of  Howe  that  the  American  Revolution 
was  not  over,  and  that  Washington  and  an  American 
army  still  kept  the  field.  Trenton  must  be  redeemed,  and 
they  determined  to  finish  the  business  at  once. 


^\\! 


*  ¥ 


'• 


TRENTON   AND   PRINCETON  217 

Washington  with  his  fresh  troops  moved  first,  and  re- 
occupied  Trenton.  Cornwallis  set  out  against  him  with 
7,000  men  on  December  3oth.  He  outnumbered  Wash 
ington,  had  a  perfect  equipment,  and  intended  to  destroy 
his  opponents.  As  he  marched  from  Princeton  on  Janu 
ary  2d,  the  Americans,  under  Hand,  Scott,  and  Forrest, 
fought  him  at  every  step,  falling  back  slowly  and  disput 
ing  every  inch  of  the  ground,  as  Washington  had  directed. 
It  was  noon  before  they  reached  Shabbakong  Creek,  when 
two  hours  were  consumed  in  crossing  the  stream.  Then 
came  a  fight  at  Trenton,  where  they  suffered  severely  from 
the  American  fire,  but  when  they  charged,  the  Americans, 
having  but  few  bayonets,  gave  way,  retreated  from  the  town 
and  joined  the  main  army,  which  held  a  strong  position  on 
the  south  side  of  the  Assanpink.  The  British  x  opened  a 
heavy  cannonade  and  at  once  made  an  attempt  to  cross  the 
bridge,  which  was  repulsed.  Many  officers  urged  a  gen 
eral  and  renewed  attack,  but  the  short  winter  day  was 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  Cornwallis  decided  to  wait  until 
morning.  Washington  had  worn  out  the  day  with  stub 
born  skirmishing,  for  he  had  no  intention  of  fighting  a 
pitched  battle  with  his  ill-armed  men,  inferior  in  numbers 
to  their  well-equipped  opponents,  \vho  would  receive  rein 
forcements  in  the  morning.  Cornwallis  had  given  him  all 
he  wanted,  which  was  time,  a  gift  constantly  conferred  on 
Washington  by  the  British  generals.  He  had  checked  the 
enemy  all  day,  and  he  had  now  the  night  in  which  to  act. 
So  he  set  the  men  to  work  on  intrenchments,  lighted 
camp-fires  along  the  river-bank,  and  having  convinced 
Cornwallis  that  he  would  be  there  in  the  morning,  he 
marched  off  with  his  whole  army  at  midnight,  leaving  his 
fires  burning.  Cornwallis  had  left  all  his  stores  at  Bruns- 


218 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


wick,  and  three  regiments  of  foot  and  three  companies  of 
horse  at  Princeton.  Thither  then  Washington  was  march 
ing  that  winter  night.  He  meant  to  strike  his  superior 
enemy  another  blow  at  a  weak  point.  By  daybreak  he 
was  near  Princeton,  and  moved  with  the  main  army 
straight  for  the  town,  while  Mercer  was  detached  with  three 
hundred  men  to  destroy  the  bridge  which  gave  the  most 


QUAKER  MEETING-HOUSE,   NEAR  PRINCETON. 
Near  which  Washington  formed  his  troops  before  the  battle. 

direct  connection  with  Cornwallis.  The  enemy  had 
started  at  sunrise,  and  one  regiment  was  already  over  the 
bridge  when  they  saw  the  Americans.  Colonel  Mawhood 
at  once  recrossed  the  bridge,  and  both  Americans  and 
English  made  for  some  high  commanding  ground.  The 
Americans  reached  the  desired  point  first,  and  a  sharp 
fight  ensued.  The  American  rifles  did  great  execution, 
but  without  bayonets  they  could  not  stand  a  charge. 
Mercer  was  mortally  wounded,  and  his  men  began  to  re 
treat.  As  Mawhood  advanced,  he  came  upon  the  main 


TRENTON   AND    PRINCETON 


221 


American  army,  marching  rapidly  to  the  scene  of  action. 
The  new  Pennsylvania  militia  in  the  van  wavered  under 
the  British  fire,  and  began  to  give  way.  Washington  for 
getting,  as  he  was  too  apt  to  do,  his  position,  his  impor 
tance,  and  everything  but  the  fight,  rode  rapidly  to  the 
front,  reined  his  horse  within  thirty  yards  of  the  enemy, 
and  called  to  his  men  to  stand  firm.  The  wavering 
ceased,  the  Americans  advanced,  the  British  halted,  and 


STONY  BROOK  BRIDGE,  NEAR   PRINCETON 


The  Americans  destroyed  it   to   cut   off  the  pursuing   British  ; 
built  1792. 


then  gave  way.  The  Seventeenth  Regiment  was  badly 
cut  up,  broken,  and  dispersed.  The  other  two  fled  into 
the  town,  made  a  brief  stand,  gave  way  again,  and  were 
driven  in  rout  to  Brunswick.  Washington  broke  down 
the  bridges  and,  leaving  Cornwallis,  who  had  discovered 
that  he  had  been  outgeneralled,  to  gaze  at  him  from  the 
other  side  of  the  Millstone  and  of  Stony  Brook,  moved 
off  to  Somerset  Court-house,  where  he  stopped  to  rest  his 
men,  who  had  been  marching  and  fighting  for  eighteen 
hours.  It  was  too  late  to  reach  the  magazines  at  Bruns- 


222 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


wick,  but  the  work  was  done.  The  British  suffered  se 
verely  in  the  fighting  of  January  2d,  although  we  have  no 
statistics  of  their  losses.  But  on  January  3d  at  Princeton 
they  lost  nearly  four  hundred  men  in  killed,  wounded,  and 
prisoners,  and  their  detachment  at  that  point  was  shattered 


HOUSE    AND  ROOM   IN 

WHICH  GENERAL 

MERCER  DIED. 

At  the  left  of  the  house  is  the  mon 
ument  recently  erected  to  Mer 
cer's  memory. 


and  dispersed.  Cornwallis  gave  up  his  plan  of  immedi 
ately  crushing  and  destroying  the  American  army,  stopped 
his  pursuit,  withdrew  all  his  men  to  Amboy  and  Bruns 
wick,  contracted  his  lines,  and  decided  to  allow  the  efface- 
ment  of  the  American  army  to  wait  until  spring. 

The  Trenton  and   Princeton  campaign  was  a  very  re 
markable  one,  both  from  a  military  and  a  political  point 


TRENTON   AND    PRINCETON  223 

of  view.  Washington  found  himself,  after  a  series  of  de 
feats  and  after  a  long  retreat,  which,  however  skilfully 
managed,  was  still  retreat,  face  to  face  with  an  enemy  out 
numbering  him  in  the  proportion  of  six  to  one.  In  little 
more  than  a  week,  in  the  dead  of  winter,  with  a  dwindling 
army  of  raw  troops  shifting  and  changing  under  his  hand 
through  the  pernicious  system  of  short  enlistments,  he  had 
assumed  the  offensive  and  won  two  decisive  victories. 
He  had  struck  his  vastly  superior  foe  twice  with  superior 
numbers  on  his  own  part  at  the  point  of  contact,  so  that 
he  made  his  victory,  so  far  as  was  humanly  possible,  sure 
beforehand.  With  a  beaten  and  defeated  army  operating 
against  overwhelming  odds,  he  had  inflicted  upon  the 
enemy  two  severe  defeats.  No  greater  feat  can  be  per 
formed  in  war  than  this.  That  which  puts  Hannibal  at 
the  head  of  all  great  commanders  was  the  fact  that  he 
won  his  astonishing  victories  under  the  same  general  con 
ditions.  There  was  one  great  military  genius  in  Europe 
when  Washington  was  fighting  this  short  campaign  in 
New  Jersey — Frederick  of  Prussia.  Looking  over  the 
accounts  of  the  Trenton  and  Princeton  battles,  he  is  re 
ported  to  have  said  that  it  was  the  greatest  campaign  of 
the  century.  The  small  numbers  engaged  did  not  blind 
the  victor  of  Rossbach  and  Leuthen.  He  did  not  mean 
that  the  campaign  was  great  from  the  number  of  men  in 
volved  or  the  territory  conquered,  but  great  in  its  concep 
tion,  and  as  an  illustration  of  the  highest  skill  in  the  art  of 
war  under  the  most  adverse  conditions.  So,  in  truth,  it 
was.  Washington  was,  by  nature,  a  great  soldier,  and 
after  the  manner  of  his  race,  he  fought  best  when  the  tide 
of  fortune  seemed  to  set  most  strongly  against  him.  He 
had  complete  mastery  of  the  whole  military  situation,  and 


224 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


knew  exactly  what  he  meant  to  do  while  his  opponents 
were  fumbling  about  without  any  idea,  except  that  the 
Americans  were  beaten  and  that  they  must  crush  the 
audacious  general  who  would  not  stay  beaten.  This  per 
fect  knowledge  of  all  the  conditions,  including  the  capac- 


NASSAU  HALL,   PRINCETON,   ERECTED  1756. 

Seized  by  the  British  in  1776;  retaken  by  Americans  at  the  Uattle  of  Princeton,  January  3,  7777.  Here 
•met,  from  June  26,  1783  to  November  4,  1783,  the  Continental  Congress,  and  here  General  Washington  received 
the  grateful  acknowledgments  of  Congress  for  his  services  in  establishing  the  independence  of  the  United 
States. 

ity  of  the  generals  opposed  to  him,  combined  with  celer 
ity  of  movement  and  the  power  of  inspiring  his  men,  were 
the  causes  of  Washington's  success.  And  this  is  only 
saying,  in  a  roundabout  way,  that  Washington,  when  the 
pressure  was  hardest,  possessed  and  displayed  military 
genius  of  a  high  order. 

But  there  was  another  side  than  the  purely  military  one 


TRENTON   AND    PRINCETON  225 

to  this  campaign,  which  showed  that  Washington  was  a 
statesman  as  well  as  a  soldier.  The  greatest  chiefs  in  war 
ought  also  to  be  great  statesmen.  Some  few  of  them  in 
the  world's  history  have  combined  both  state  and  war  craft, 
but  these  are  on  the  whole  exceptions,  and  Washington 
was  one  of  the  exceptions.  He  not  only  saw  with  abso 
lute  clearness  the  whole  military  situation,  and  knew  just 
what  he  meant  to  do  and  could  do,  but  he  understood  the 
political  situation  at  home  and  abroad  as  no  one  else  then 
understood  it.  During  the  eighteen  months  which  had 
passed  since  he  took  command,  he  had  dealt  with  Congress 
and  all  the  State  governments  and  had  gauged  their  strength 
and  their  weakness.  He  had  struggled  day  after  day  with 
the  defects  of  the  army  as  then  constituted.  The  difficulties 
to  be  met  were  known  to  him  as  to  no  one  else  ;  he  had 
watched  and  studied  popular  feeling  and  was  familiar  \vith 
all  its  states  and  currents.  He  had  seen  the  rush  of  the 
first  uprising  of  the  people,  and  had  witnessed  the  power 
of  this  new  force  which  had  invaded  Canada,  seized  Ti- 
conderoga,  and  driven  British  armies  and  fleets  from  Bos 
ton  and  Charleston.  But  living  as  he  did  among  difficulties 
and  facing  facts,  he  also  knew  that  the  first  victorious  rush 
was  but  a  beginning,  that  a  reaction  was  sure  to  come, 
and  that  the  vital  question  was  whether  the  war  could  be 
sustained  through  the  period  of  reaction  until  the  armed 
people  could  arise  again,  more  soberly,  less  enthusiastically 
than  before,  but  disciplined  and  with  set  purpose  deter 
mined  to  win  by  hard,  slow,  strenuous  fighting.  The  first 
rush  passed.  The  inevitable  defeats  came  in  New  York. 
The  period  of  reaction  set  in  deeper  and  more  perilous 
perhaps  than  even  Washington  anticipated.  If  he  closed 
his  campaign  in  defeat  and  retreat,  the  popular  spirit  upon 


226  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

which  he  relied  would  not  probably  have  an  opportunity 
to  revive,  and  the  American  Revolution  would  never  see 
another  spring.  After  the  retreat  up  the  Hudson,  the  loss 
of  New  York,  and  the  steady  falling  back  in  New  Jersey, 
Europe  would  conclude  that  the  moment  England  really 
exerted  herself,  the  rebellion  had  gone  down  before  her 
arms,  and  all  hopes  of  foreign  aid  and  alliance  would  be 
at  an  end.  Without  a  striking  change  in  the  course  of 
the  war,  the  cause  of  the  American  people  was  certainly 
lost  abroad  and  probably  ruined  at  home.  This  was  the 
thought  which  nerved  Washington  to  enter  upon  that 
desperate  winter  campaign.  He  must  save  the  Revolu 
tion  in  the  field,  before  the  people,  and  in  the  cabinets  of 
Europe.  He  must  fight  and  win,  no  matter  what  the 
odds,  and  he  did  both. 

The  result  shows  how  accurately  he  had  judged  the 
situation.  After  Trenton  and  Princeton  the  popular  spirit 
revived,  and  the  force  of  the  armed  people  began  to  stir 
into  a  larger  and  stronger  life.  The  watchers  in  Europe 
doubted  now  very  seriously  England's  ability  to  conquer 
her  colonists,  and  began  to  look  on  with  an  intense  and 
selfish  interest.  The  American  people  awoke  suddenly  to 
the  fact  that  they  had  brought  forth  a  great  leader,  and 
they  turned  to  him  as  the  embodiment  of  all  their  hopes 
and  aspirations.  The  democratic  movement  destined  to 
such  a  great  future  had  passed  from  the  first  stage  of  vic 
torious  confidence  to  the  depths  of  doubt  and  reaction, 
and  now  after  Princeton  and  Trenton  it  began  to  mount 
again.  Congress  had  given  all  power  into  the  hands  of 
Washington,  and  left  the  united  colonies  for  the  time 
being  without  civil  government.  Washington  took  up 
the  burden  in  his  strong  hands  in  the  darkest  hour,  and 


TRENTON   AND    PRINCETON  227 

bore  it  without  flinching.  All  that  was  left  of  the  Ameri 
can  Revolution  during  that  Christmas  week  was  with 
Washington  and  his  little  army.  How  they  fared  in  those 
wintry  marches  and  sharp  battles,  in  storm  and  ice  and 
snow,  chilled  by  the  bitter  cold,  we  know.  The  separation 
of  the  North  American  Colonies  from  the  mother-country 
was  probably  inevitable.  It  surely  would  have  come  soon 
er  or  later,  either  in  peace  or  war.  But  it  is  equally  cer 
tain  that  the  successful  Revolution  which  actually  made 
the  United  States  independent,  was  saved  from  ruin  by 
George  Washington  in  the  winter  of  1776. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   BURGOYNE    CAMPAIGN 

ALONG  the  line  of  the  Hudson  alone  was  it  possible 
to  separate  one  group  of  colonies  from  the  rest. 
That  line  reached  from  the  sea  on  the  south  to 
the  British  possessions  in  Canada  on  the  north.  Once  in 
full  control  of  it  the  British  would  not  only  be  masters  of 
New  York,  but  they  would  cut  off  New  England  from  the 
other  colonies.  Nowhere  else  could  this  be  done.  At 
any  point  on  the  long  Atlantic  coast  they  might  seize  sea 
ports  or  even  overrun  one  or  more  colonies  ;  but  along  the 
Hudson  alone  could  they  divide  the  colonies,  and  by  divid 
ing,  hopelessly  cripple  them.  It  required  no  very  great 
intelligence  to  perceive  this  fact,  and  the  British  Ministry 
acted  on  it  from  the  start.  Carleton  descended  from  Can 
ada  in  the  summer  of  1776,  while  Howe  was  to  advance 
from  the  city  and,  driving  the  Americans  before  him,  was  to 
unite  with  the  northern  army  and  thus  get  the  control  of 
the  two  long  lakes  and  of  the  great  river  of  New  York. 
Carleton,  who  was  almost  the  only  efficient  officer  in  the 
British  service,  did  his  part  fairly  well.  He  came  down  the 
lakes  to  Crown  Point,  which  he  captured  and  advanced  as 
far  as  Ticonderoga.  Thence,  hearing  nothing  from  the 
south,  he  was  obliged,  by  the  season  and  by  his  victory  over 

Arnold  at  Yalcour,  which  cost  him  so  dear  and  so  heavily, 

228 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN  229 

to  withdraw.  Howe,  on  his  side,  proceeded  to  force  back 
the  Americans,  and,  having  driven  them  some  thirty  miles 
when  he  needed  to  cover  nearly  four  hundred,  he  suddenly 
retraced  his  steps  and  captured  Fort  Washington,  a  seri 
ous  loss  at  the  moment  to  the  Americans,  but  of  no  perma 
nent  effect  whatever  on  the  fortunes  of  the  Revolution. 
The  essential  and  great  object  was  sacrificed  to  one  which 
was  temporary  and  unessential.  Howe  was  incapable  of 
seeing  the  vital  point.  Unenterprising  and  slow,  he  was 
baffled  and  delayed  by  Washington  until  summer  had  gone 
and  autumn  was  wearing  away  into  winter. 

Thus  failed  the  first  campaign  for  the  Hudson,  but 
even  while  it  was  going  to.  wreck,  the  Ministry — deeply 
impressed  with  the  importance  of  the  prize — were  making 
ready  for  a  second  attempt.  This  time  the  main  attack 
was  to  be  made  from  the  north,  and  Sir  Henry  Clinton 
was  to  come  up  the  river  and  meet  the  victorious  army 
advancing  from  Canada.  In  order  to  insure  success  at  the 
start,  the  Ministry  set  aside  Carleton,  the  efficient  and  ex 
perienced,  and  intrusted  this  important  expedition  to  an 
other.  The  new  commander  was  Sir  John  Burgoyne.  A 
brief  statement  of  who  he  was  and  what  he  had  done  will 
show  why  he  was  selected  to  lead  in  the  most  serious  and 
intelligent  attempt  made  by  England  to  conquer  America 
—an  attempt  upon  which  the  fate  of  the  Revolution  turned 
when  success  meant  the  division  of  the  colonies,  and  defeat 
a  French  alliance  with  the  new  States.  Burgoyne  came 
of  a  good  family,  and  had  made  a  runaway  marriage  with 
the  daughter  of  Lord  Derby.  As  matters  went  then,  these 
were  sufficient  reasons  for  the  appointment  ;  but  in  justice 
to  Burgoyne,  it  must  be  said  that  he  had  other  attributes 
than  those  of  birth  and  marriage.  He  was  a  member  of 


230          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Parliament  and  a  clever  debater  ;  a  man  of  letters,  and  an 
agreeable  writer ;  a  not  unsuccessful  verse-maker  and  play 
wright  ;  a  soldier  who  had  shown  bravery  in  the  war  in 
Portugal  ;  a  gentleman  and  a  man  of  fashion.  He  had 
not  given  any  indication  of  capacity  for  the  command  of 
an  army,  but  this  was  not  thought  of  importance.  Let  it 
be  added  that,  although  as  a  soldier  he  was  the  worst  beat 
en  of  the  British  generals,  as  a  man  he  was  much  the  best, 
for  he  was  clever,  agreeable,  and  well-bred. 

Having  selected  their  commander,  the  Ministry  cordi 
ally  supported  him.  With  Lord  George  Germain,  whose 
own  prowess  in  battle  made  him  think  the  Americans  not 
only  rebels  but  cowards,  the  campaign  was  planned.  In  it 
the  Indians,  who  had  been  held  back  by  the  judicious 
Carleton,  were  to  play  a  large  part,  and  Canadians  also 
were  to  be  enlisted.  More  Germans  were  purchased,  and 
no  effort  was  spared  to  give  the  new  General  everything 
he  wanted.  There  was  only  one  oversight.  Lord  George 
Germain  put  the  orders  directing  Howe  to  join  Burgoyne 
in  a  pigeon-hole,  went  off  to  the  country  and  forgot  them. 
Thus  it  happened  that  Howe  did  not  receive  these  some 
what  important  instructions  until  August  i6th.  Hence, 
some  delay  in  marching  north  to  Burgoyne,  the  results  of 
which  will  appear  later.  But  this  was  mere  forgetfulness. 
The  Ministry,  with  this  trivial  exception  of  Howe's  or 
ders,  meant  to  give  and  did  give  Burgoyne  everything  he 
wanted.  So  it  came  to  pass  that  on  June  i3th  at  St. 
Johns,  when  Burgoyne  hoisted  his  flag  on  the  Radeau,  and 
opened  his  campaign,  he  found  himself  at  the  head  of  a 
fine  army  of  nearly  8,000  men,  composed  of  4,135  English, 
3,116  Germans,  503  Indians,  and  148  Canadians.  They 
were  thoroughly  equipped  and  provided,  and  the  artillery 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN 


231 


CANAD 


was  of  the  best.  Another  force  of  1,000  men  under 
Colonel  St.  Leger  was  sent  to  the  west  to  reduce  Fort 
Stanwix  ;  this  done,  he 
was  to  descend  the 
Mohawk  Valley  and 
join  the  main  army  at 
Albany.  The  two  ex 
peditions  were  a  seri 
ous,  well  -  supported, 
and  well-aimed  attack 
at  a  vital  point,  and  if 
successful  meant  un 
told  disaster  to  the 
American  cause. 

All  began  well, 
with  much  rhetoric 
and  flourish  of  trum 
pets.  A  week  after 
hoisting  his  flag,  on 
June  2oth,  Burgoyne 
issued  a  proclamation 
in  which  he  indulged 
his  literary  propensi 
ties,  and  no  doubt  en 
joyed  highly  the  pleas 
ure  of  authorship.  The 
King,  he  said,  was  just 
and  clement,  and  had 
directed  "that  Indians 
be  employed."  The 

Americans  he  declared  to    be  "  wilful    outcasts,"   and    in 
the   "  consciousness  of  Christianity  and  the  honor  of  sol- 


•*>• 


232  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

diership  "  he  warned  them  that  the  messengers  of  justice 
and  wrath  awaited  them  on  the  field,  together  with  devasta 
tion,  famine,  and  every  con 
comitant  horror.  Having 
thus  appealed  to  every  Amer 
ican  to  turn  out  and  fight  him, 
he  announced  in  general  or 
ders  that  "  this  army  must  not 
retreat,"  and  took  his  way 
down  Lake  Champlain,  the 
Indians  in  their  war-paint  lead 
ing  the  van  in  their  canoes, 
and  the  British  and  Germans 
following  in  a  large  flotilla 
with  bands  playing  and  ban- 

GENERAL   PHILIP    SCHUYLER.  nerS    Hying. 

From    the  painting   by    Trumbull   ( ,792)    in    the  At    tllC     Start      all    WCttt    Well 

Yale     College    Art    Gallery.      (Said  to    be    the 
only  portrait  of  General  Schuyler  now  in  ex-  ^ft       victOllOUSly.  Schuyler, 

in  command  of  the  northern 

department,  had  been  laboring  with  energy  to  repair 
the  lines  of  defence  broken  by  Carleton's  invasion  of 
the  previous  summer,  and  make  ready  for  the  coming 
of  the  new  attack.  But  he  had  been  unsupported  by 
Congress  and  had  been  manfully  struggling  with  really 
insuperable  difficulties.  Instead  of  the  proper  garrison 
of  5,000  men  at  Ticonderoga,  there  were  barely  2,500 
ill-armed  continental  troops,  and  nine  hundred  militia,  a 
force  far  too  small  to  maintain  a  proper  line  of  works. 
The  British  at  once  seized  some  unoccupied  and  com 
manding  heights  and  opened  a  plunging  fire  on  the 
American  position  with  such  effect  that  St.  Clair,  who 
was  in  command  at  Ticonderoga,  decided  that  the  place 


t  THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN  233 

was  untenable,  and  on  the  night  of  July  5th  abandoned  it. 
He  sent  the  women  and  wounded  under  the  protection  of 
Colonel  Long  and  six  hundred  troops  by  boat  to  Skenes- 
boro'  where  they  were  attacked  and  the  American  flotilla 
destroyed.  Long  thereupon  withdrew  to  Fort  Anne,  and 
the  next  day  fought  a  good  action  there,  but  being  out 
numbered,  he  abandoned  the  position  and  retreated  to  Fort 


RUINS   OF    OLD    FORT   FREDERICK,    CROWN  POINT— AT  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

Edward,  where  he  joined  Schuyler.  Meantime,  St.  Clair, 
assailed  on  his  retreat  by  the  British,  with  whom  his  rear 
guard  fought  stubbornly,  made  his  way  also  to  Fort  Ed 
ward  and  joined  Schuyler  on  the  i2th.  The  united  Amer 
ican  force  numbered  less  than  5,000  men,  ill-armed  and 
unprovided  in  every  way.  Schuyler,  however,  faced  the 
situation  bravely  and  with  no  sign  of  flinching  or  panic, 
did  at  once  and  effectively  the  wisest  thing  possible./ 


234 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


The  British  had  allied  themselves  with  the  Indians,  Schuy- 
ler  made  the  wilderness  the  ally  of  the  Americans.  He 
destroyed  all  the  wood  roads,  burnt  the  bridges,  rilled 
up  the  practicable  waterways  with  logs  and  stones,  and 
stripped  the  country  of  cattle  and  all  provisions.  Doing 
this  diligently  and  thoroughly,  he  fell  back  slowly  to  Fort 
Miller,  ruining  the  road  as  he  passed,  and  thence  to  Still- 
water,  where  he  intrenched  himself  and  awaited  reinforce- 


THE  HOME   OF  GENERAL   PHILIP  SCHUYLER  AT  OLD  SARATOGA,  NEAR 
SCHUYLER  VILLE. 

ments,  Arnold  in  the  meantime  having  joined   him  with 
the  artillery. 

Burgoyne,  on  the  other  hand,  elated  by  easy  victory, 
sent  home  a  messenger  with  exulting  tidings  of  his  success, 
when,  in  reality,  his  troubles  were  just  beginning.  The 
country  sparsely  settled,  and  hardly  opened  at  all,  sank 
back  under  Schuyler's  treatment  to  an  utter  wilderness. 
The  British  in  New  York,  New  Jersey,  and  Massachusetts 
had  been  operating  in  a  long-settled  region  where  the 
roads  were  good.  Now  they  were  in  a  primeval  forest, 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN 


235 


with  every  foot-path  and  track  destroyed,  every  bridge 
burned,  every  creek  choked.  Burgoyne  had  to  cut  a 
new  road,  build  forty  bridges, 
and  reopen  Wood  Creek.  He 
consumed  twenty-four  days  in 
marching  twenty  -  six  miles, 
from  Skenesboro'  to  Fort  Ed 
ward,  and  after  arriving  there, 
on  July  3Oth,  he  was  obliged 
to  wait  until  August  i5th  for 
the  arrival  of  his  artillery  and 
heavy  ammunition  from  Lake 
George. 

Even  while  his  jubilant 
message  was  on  its  way  to 
London,  the  wilderness,  un 
der  Schuyler's  wise  manage 
ment,  had  dealt  him  this  deadly  blow  of  fatal  delay.  Nor 
was  this  all.  The  employment  of  the  Indians,  who  had 
been  ravaging  and  scalping  from  the  day  the  British 
crossed  the  frontier,  had  roused  the  people  of  the  north 
as  nothing  else  could  have  done.  The  frontiersmen  and 
pioneers  rose  in  all  directions,  for  the  scalping  of  wounded 
soldiers  awakened  in  the  Americans  a  fierce  spirit  of  re 
venge,  which  would  stop  at  no  danger.  The  idea  that  the 
Indians  would  terrify  the  Americans  was  a  foolish  dream. 
Nothing  in  reality  was  calculated  to  make  them  fight  so 
hard.  Perhaps  even  Burgoyne  may  have  had  a  glimmer 
ing  of  this  truth  when  two  of  the  allies  of  his  clement 
King  tomahawked  and  scalped  Miss  McCrea.  There  was 
nothing  unusual  about  the  deed,  but  the  unfortunate  girl 
happened  to  be  a  loyalist  herself  and  betrothed  to  a  loyal- 


GENERAL  JOHN  BURGOYNE. 
From  an  engraving  (after   the  j>ai>tt ing  by   Gard 
ner)  published  in  ij&j. 


236 


THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


1st  in  Burgoyne's  camp,  whither  she  was  travelling  under 
the  escort  of  the  Indians  who  murdered  her.  Thus  Bur 
goyne's  invasion,  his  Indians,  and  his  proclamations 
aroused  the  country,  and  Schuyler's  treatment  of  forest 
and  stream  gave  the  delay  necessary  to  allow  the  people  to 


*••  -  - .     •» 


THE  RAVINE  AT  OR  IS  KA  NY,   NEW   YORK. 

The  taH  elm  on  the  lejt  was  said  fo  be  standing-  at  the  time.  The  Indian  allies  lay  in  ambush  on  the 
hill-sides,  -which  -were  then  densely  -wooded,  and  attacked  the  Americans  as  they  crossed  on  the  road  in  the 
foreground. 

rise  in  arms.      Even   while  Burgoyne  was  toiling  over  his 
twenty-six  miles  of  wilderness,  the  mischief  had  begun. 

The  first  blow  came  from  the  west.  Much  was  ex 
pected  from  the  strong  expedition  directed  against  Fort 
Stanwix,  and  much  was  staked  upon  it.  When  St.  Leger 
arrived  there  on  August  2d,  with  his  Indians  and  loyalists 
as  allies,  he  summoned  it  to  surrender.  Colonel  Ganse- 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN  239 

voort  refused,  and  the  British  began  a  regular  siege.  Here, 
too,  all  that  was  needed  was  time.  The  hardy  pioneers  of 
that  frontier  county  rallied  under  General  Herkimer,  and 
to  the  number  of  eight  hundred  marched  with  him  to  re 
lieve  Gansevoort.  When  within  eight  miles  of  Fort  Stan- 
wix,  Herkimer  halted  and  sent  a  messenger  to  the  fort 
with  a  request  that  on  his  arrival  three  guns  should  be 


GENERAL  HERKIMER' S    HOUSE    AT    DANUBE,    NEAR    LITTLE    FALLS,    NEW 

YORK. 

In   the  family  burying  ground  is  Herkimer' s  grave,  marked  by  the  flag,  to  the  right  is  the  base  of  the  monu 
ment  recently  erected  to  his  memory. 

fired  and  a  sortie  made.  Impatient  of  delay,  Herkimer's 
officers  would  not  wait  the  signal,  and  unwisely  insisted  on 
an  immediate  advance,  which  led  them  into  an  ambush  of 
the  British  and  their  Indian  allies.  Although  taken  at  a  dis 
advantage,  this  was  a  kind  of  warfare  which  the  Americans 
thoroughly  understood,  and  a  desperate  hand-to-hand  and 
tree-to-tree  fight  began.  Herkimer  was  mortally  wounded 
early  in  the  action,  but  the  brave  old  man  had  himself 
propped  up  with  his  saddle  against  a  tree,  and  continued 


240 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


to  issue  his  orders  and 
direct  the  battle.  This 
savage  fighting  went  on 
for  five  hours,  and  then 
at  last  the  guns  were 
heard  from  the  fort. 
Colonel  Willet  dashed 
out  on  the  British  camp 
with  two  hundred  and 
fifty  men,  destroyed 
some  of  the  intrench- 
ments,  and  captured 
prisoners,  camp  equi 
page,  and  five  flags.  He  could  not  get  through  to  Her- 
kimer,  but  the  Indians,  hearing  the  firing  in  their  rear, 
retreated,  and  were  soon  followed  by  the  loyalists  and 


•OLD    STONE    CHURCH   AT    GERMAN   FLATS 
IN   THE  MOHAWK   VALLEY. 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN  241 

regular  troops,  leaving  Herkimer  master  of  the  field  and 
victor  in  the  hard-fought  backwoods  fight  of  Oriskany. 

St.  Leger,  despite  this  heavy  check,  still  clung  to  his  in- 
trenchments,  and  on  August  ;th  again  summoned  the  fort 
to  surrender.  Gansevoort,  with  the  five  British  standards 
flying  below  the  new  American  flag,  made  from  strips  of 
an  overcoat  and  a  petticoat,  contemptuously  refused.  The 
besiegers  renewed  their  attack  in  vain,  and  were  easily 
repulsed.  Then  came  rumors  of  Arnold's  advance  to  the 
relief  of  the  fort  ;  the  Indians  fled,  and  St.  Leger,  deserted 
by  these  important  allies,  was  forced  to  raise  the  siege. 
On  August  22d  he  abandoned  his  works  in  disorder,  leav 
ing  his  artillery  and  camp  equipage,  and  made  a  disorderly 
retreat  to  Canada,  broken  and  beaten.  The  stubborn  re 
sistance  of  Gansevoort  and  the  gallant  fight  of  Herkimel 


CASTLE   CHURCH,   NEAR  DANUBE,   IN  THE  MOHAWK  VALLEY. 

Built  as  a  Mission  for  the  Indians  by  Sir  William  Johnson.     The  notorious  Krant  ivcts  taught  hert 
*v  the  Missionaries,  and  lived  in  a  house  a  little  to  the  north  of  the  church. 


242 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


had  triumphed.     Arnold  was  able  to  rejoin  Schuyler  with 
the  news  that  the  valley  of  the  Mohawk  was  saved.     The 

western  expedition  of  the  north 
ern  invasion  had  broken  down 
and  failed. 

While  St.  Leger  was  thus  go 
ing  to  wreck  in  the  west,  Bur- 
goyne's  own  situation  was  grow 
ing  difficult  and  painful.  Provi 
sions  were  falling  short,  and  the 
army  was  becoming  straitened  for 
food,  for  Schuyler  had  stripped 
the  country  to  good  purpose,  and 
to  the  difficulties  of  moving  the 
army  was  now  added  that  of  feed 
ing  it.  Bad  reports,  too,  came 
from  New  England.  It  ap 
peared  that  the  invasion  had 
roused  the  people  there  to  defend  their  homes  against  Ind 
ians  and  white  men  alike.  Stark  had  raised  his  standard 
at  Charlestown,  on  the  Connecticut  River,  and  the  militia 
were  pouring  in  to  follow  the  sturdy  soldier  of  Bunker 
Hill  and  Trenton. 

Nevertheless,  food  must  be  had,  and  these  gathering 
farmers,  who  seemed  disposed  to  interfere,  must  be  dis 
persed.  So  Burgoyne,  on  August  nth,  sent  Colonel 
Baum,  with  five  hundred  and  fifty  Hessians  and  British, 
and  fifty  Indians,  to  raid  the  country,  lift  the  cattle,  and 
incidentally  repress  the  rebellious  inhabitants  of  the  New 
Hampshire  grants.  Four  days  later  he  sent  Colonel  Brey< 
mann,  with  six  hundred  and  forty-two  Brunswickers,  to 
support  the  first  detachment,  for  Baum  had  asked  for  re- 


GENERAL  JOHN  STARK. 

From  a  painting  ( after  Trumbull)  by  U.  D. 
Tenney,  at  the  State  Capitol  at  Con 
cord,  N.  H. 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN  243 

inforcements.  Apparently,  the  task  before  him  looked 
more  serious  than  he  anticipated.  Still  he  kept  on  stead 
ily,  and  on  August  i3th  encamped  on  a  hill  about  four 
miles  from  Bennington,  in  the  present  State  of  Vermont, 
and  proceeded  to  intrench  himself.  This  was  an  unusual 
proceeding  for  a  rapid  and  desolating  raid,  but  it  was  now 
apparent  that,  instead  of  waiting  to  be  raided,  the  New 
Englanders  were  coming  to  meet  their  foe. 

As  soon  as  Stark  heard  of  the  advance  of  Baum,  he 
marched  at  once  against  him  with  the  fifteen  hundred  men 
he  had  gathered  from  New  Hampshire  and  Massachusetts, 
disregarding  the  orders  he  had  received  meantime  to  join 
the  main  army  under  Schuyler.  On  August  i4th  he  was 
within  a  mile  of  the  Indo-Germanic  camp,  but  could  not 
draw  them  out  to  battle.  The  i5th  it  rained  heavily,  and 
Stark  kept  up  a  constant  skirmishing,  while  the  Hessians 
worked  on  their  intrenchments. 

August  1 6th  was  fair  and  warm,  and  Stark,  suspecting 
the  approach  of  reinforcements  to  the  enemy,  determined 
to  storm  the  hill,  a  rather  desperate  undertaking  for  undis 
ciplined  farmers,  armed  only  with  rifles  and  destitute  of 
side-arms  or  bayonets.  Nevertheless,  it  was  possible,  and 
Stark  meant  to  try.  Early  in  the  day  he  sent  five  hun 
dred  men,  under  Nichols  and  Herrick,  to  the  rear  of  the 
Hessian  position.  Baum,  honest  German  that  he  was 
noticed  small  parties  of  Americans  making  their  way  tow 
ard  the  rear  of  his  intrenchments  ;  but  he  had  never  seen 
soldiers  except  in  uniform,  and  he  could  not  imagine  that 
these  farmers,  in  their  shirt-sleeves  and  without  bayonets 
or  equipment,  were  fighting  men.  He  had  never  con 
ceived  the  idea  of  an  armed  people.  In  truth,  the  phe 
nomenon  was  new,  and  it  is  not  surprising  that  Baum  did 


244  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

not  understand  it.  He  concluded  that  these  stragglers 
were  peasants  flocking  to  the  support  of  their  King's 
hired  troops,  and  let  them  slip  by.  Thus  Stark  success 
fully  massed  his  five  hundred  men  in  the  rear  of  the  Brit 
ish  forces.  Then  he  made  a  feint,  and  under  cover  of  it 
moved  another  body  of  two  hundred  to  the  right.  This 
done,  he  had  his  men  in  position,  and  was  ready  to  attack. 
He  outnumbered  the  enemy  more  than  two  to  one,  but 
his  men  were  merely  militia,  and  without  bayonets — a 
badly  equipped  force  for  an  assault.  The  British,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  thoroughly  disciplined,  regular  troops,  in 
trenched  and  with  artillery.  The  advantage  was  all  theirs, 
for  they  had  merely  to  hold  their  ground.  But  Stark 
knew  his  men.  The  wild  fighting  blood  of  his  Scotch- 
Irish  ancestors  was  up,  and  he  gave  the  word.  The 
Americans  pressed  forward,  using  their  rifles  with  deadly 
effect.  The  Indian  allies  of  the  King,  having  no  illusions 
as  to  American  frontiersmen  in  their  shirt-sleeves  and 
armed  with  rifles,  slipped  off  early  in  the  fray,  while  the 
British  and  Hessians  stood  their  ground  doggedly  and 
bravely.  The  Americans  swarmed  on  all  sides.  They 
would  creep  or  run  up  to  within  ten  yards  of  the  works, 
pick  off  the  artillerymen  and  fall  back.  For  two  hours 
the  fight  raged  hotly,  the  Americans  closing  in  more  and 
more,  and  each  assault  becoming  more  desperate  than  the 
last.  Stark,  who  said  the  firing  was  a  "  continuous  roar," 
was  everywhere  among  his  men.  At  last,  begrimed  with 
powder  and  smoke  almost  beyond  recognition,  he  led  them 
in  a  final  charge.  They  rushed  over  the  works,  and  beat 
down  the  men  at  the  guns  with  clubbed  rifles.  Baum 
ordered  his  men  to  charge  with  the  bayonet ;  the  Ameri 
cans  repulsed  them  ;  Baum  fell  mortally  wounded,  and  his 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN 


247 


soldiers  surrendered.  It  was  none  too  soon.  Stark's 
judgment  had  been  right,  for  Baum's  men  had  hardly  laid 
down  their  arms  when  Breymann  appeared  with  his  de 
tachment  and  attacked.  Under  this  new  assault  the 

Americans     w  a  v  - 
ered,  but  Stark  ral- 


CATAMOUNT  TAVERN,  BENNINGTON, 
VT ,  THE  HEAD-QUARTERS  OF  GEN 
ERAL  STARK  AND  THE  COUNCIL 
OF  SAFETY. 

(Drawn  from  an  old  photograph.) 


MONUMENT   AVENUE,    BENNINGTON,    AT    THE 
PRESENT  TIME. 

The    Battle    Monument    in    the   distance.     The  pedestal    to   the    right 
marks  the  site  of  the  Catamount  Tavern. 


lied  them,  and  put 
ting  in  the  one  hun 
dred  and  fifty  fresh 
Vermont  men,  un 
der  Warner,  re 
pulsed  the  Bruns- 
wickers,  and  Brey 
mann  retreated,  beaten  and  in  haste,  under  cover  of  dark 
ness.  Another  hour  and  he,  too,  would  have  been  crushed. 
There  was  no  strategy  about  the  action  at  Bennington. 
"  It  was  the  plain  shock  and  even  play  of  battle;"  sheer 
hard  fighting,  often  hand  to  hand,  and  the  American  farm 
ers  defending  their  homes,  and  well  led,  proved  more 


248  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

than  a  match  for  the  intrenched  regulars.  Bennington 
showed  a  great  advance  over  Bunker  Hill,  for  here  the 
Americans  attacked  in  the  open  an  intrenched  position 
defended  by  artillery  and  carried  it.  The  well-aimed  rifles 
of  the  pioneer  settlers  of  the  New  England  hills  won  the 
day.  The  American  loss  was  eighty-two  killed  and 
wounded ;  the  British  two  hundred  and  seven,  which 
shows  the  superior  marksmanship  of  Stark's  men,  who,  as 
the  assaulting  force,  should  have  suffered  most.  But  the 
Americans  also  took  700  prisoners,  1,000  stand  of  small 
arms,  and  all  the  artillery  of  the  British.  It  was  a  deadly 
blow  to  Burgoyne.  The  defeat  of  St.  Leger  meant  the 
failure  of  an  important  part  of  the  campaign,  while  Ben 
nington  crippled  the  main  army  of  invasion  and  swept 
away  at  a  stroke  1,000  men. 

The  victories  of  Oriskany  and  Bennington  inspirited  the 
country.  Volunteers  began  to  come  in  increasing  num 
bers  from  New  York  and  New  England,  and  even  from 
the  extreme  eastern  counties  of  Massachusetts.  Wash 
ington,  hard  pressed  as  he  was,  but  with  characteristic 
generosity,  sent  Morgan's  fine  corps  of  Virginian  riflemen, 
while  Congress,  with  a  wisdom  which  resembled  that  of 
Lord  Germain,  in  setting  aside  Carleton,  selected  this  mo 
ment  to  supersede  Schuyler,  who  was  about  to  reap  the 
reward  of  his  wise  prevision  and  steadfast  courage.  The 
general  they  now  chose  for  the  northern  army,  and  upon 
whom  they  lavished  all  the  support,  both  moral  and  mate 
rial,  which  they  had  withheld  from  Schuyler,  was  Horatio 
Gates,  "  the  son  of  the  house-keeper  of  the  second  Duke 
of  Leeds."  Beyond  his  English  birth  and  his  somewhat 
remote  connection  with  the  British  peerage,  Gates  had  no 
claim  whatever  to  command  any  army.  It  is  but  just  to 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN 


249 


>ay  that  his  command  was  in  practice  largely  nominal,  but 
t  was  given  him  solely  because  Congress,  with  colonial 
labits  still  strong  upon  them, 
were  dazzled  by  the  fact  that 
he  was  an  Englishman.  It 
was  a  repetition  of  the  case 
of  Lee.  Gates,  although  an 
intriguer,  was  more  sluggish 
than  Lee,  less  clever  and  less 
malignant,  but  it  would  be 
hard  to  say  which  was  the 
more  ineffective,  or  which  the 
more  positively  harmful. 
Both  did  mischief,  neither  did 
^ood  to  the  cause  they  es 
poused.  In  the  present  in 
stance,  Gates  could  not  do 
any  fatal  injury,  for  the  armed 
people  had  turned  out  and  were  hunting  the  enemy  to  his 
death.  But  he  might  have  led  them  and  saved  much  time, 
and  not  lessened  the  final  result  by  weakness  of  spirit. 

When  he  took  command,  on  August  igth,  Gates 
found  himself  at  the  head  of  an  army  in  high  spirits  and 
steadily  increasing  in  strength.  After  contemplating  the 
situation  for  three  weeks  he  marched  from  the  mouth  of 
the  Mohawk  to  Bemis's  Heights,  on  the  west  bank  of 
the  Hudson.  There  he  awaited  his  enemy,  and  a  very 
troubled  and  hard-pressed  enemy  it  was.  Burgoyne  had 
been  sorely  hurt  by  the  defeat  at  Bennington  ;  no  more 
men  came  from  the  north  ;  the  country  had  been  stripped  ; 
he  was  short  of  supplies,  which  had  to  be  brought  from 
Canada,  and  he  could  hear  of  no  relief  from  the  south. 


GENERAL   HORATIO   GATES. 


From  the  hitherto  unpublished  for  trait  painted  by 
R.  h.  Pine,  1785. 


250  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

So  he  hesitated  and  waited  until,  at  last,  having  got  artil 
lery,  stores,  and  provisions  by  way  of  Lake  George,  he 
bethought  him  that  this  was  an  army  which  was  not  to 
retreat,  and  on  September  i3th  crossed  to  the  west  bank 
of  the  Hudson. 

An  additional  reason  for  his  doubts  and  fears,  which 
he  thus  finally  put  aside,  was  that  the  Americans  were 
threatening  his  line  of  communication.  General  Lincoln, 
with  two  thousand  men,  had  moved  to  the  rear  of  Bur- 
goyne.  Thence  he  detached  Colonel  Brown  with  five 
hundred  soldiers,  and  this  force  fell  upon  the  outworks  of 
Ticonderoga,.  took  them,  released  a  hundred  American 
prisoners,  captured  nearly  three  hundred  British  soldiers 
and  five  cannon,  and  then  rejoined  Lincoln  at  their  leisure. 
The  net  was  tightening.  The  road  to  Canada  was  being 
closed  either  for  succor  or  retreat.  Yet  Burgoyne  kept 
on,  and  on  September  i8th,  when  Brown  and  his  men 
were  carrying  the  Ticonderoga  outworks,  he  stopped  his 
march  within  two  miles  of  the  American  camp  at  Bemis's 
Heights. 

The  next  morning,  the  iQth,  about  eleven  o'clock,  the 
British  army  advanced  in  three  columns.  Burgoyne  com 
manded  the  centre  ;  Riedesel  and  Phillips,  with  the  artil 
lery,  were  on  the  left ;  while  Fraser,  commanding  the 
right,  swung  far  over  in  order  to  cover  and  turn  the  Amer 
ican  left.  Gates,  like  Stendhal's  hero,  who,  as  he  came  on 
the  field  of  Waterloo,  asked  the  old  soldier  if  the  fighting 
then  in  progress  was  a  battle,  seemed  to  regard  the  British 
advance  as  a  parade  and  watched  it  with  sluggish  interest 
but  without  giving  orders.  This  Arnold  could  not  stand, 
and  he  sent  Morgan's  riflemen  and  some  light  infantry  to 
check  Fraser.  They  easily  scattered  the  loyalists  and  Ind 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN 


251 


ians,  and  then  fell  back  before  the  main  column.  Ar 
nold  then  changed  his  direction,  and  fresh  troops  having 
come  up,  attacked  the  British  centre  with  a  view  of  break 
ing  in  between  Bur- 
goyne  and  Fraser.  The 
action  thus  became  gen 
eral  and  was  hotly 
waged.  The  Americans 
attacked  again  and 
again,  and  finally  broke 
the  line.  Burgoyne  was 
only  saved  by  Riedesel 
abandoning  his  post  and 
coming  to  the  support 
of  the  central  column 
with  all  the  artillery. 
About  five  o'clock 
Gates,  rousing  from  his 
lethargy,  sent  Learned 
with  his  brigade  to  the 
enemy's  rear.  Had  this  been  done  earlier,  the  British  army 
would  have  been  crushed.  As  it  was,  the  right  moment 
had  gone  by.  It  was  now  too  late  for  a  decisive  stroke ; 
darkness  was  falling,  and  the  Americans  drew  off  to  their 
intrenchments,  the  enemy  holding  the  ground  they  had 
advanced  to  in  the  morning.  Such  was  the  battle  of 
Freeman's  Farm.  Had  Gates  reinforced  Arnold  or  sent 
Learned  forward  earlier,  the  result  would  have  been  far 
more  decisive.  Without  a  general,  led  only  by  their 
regimental  and  brigade  commanders,  the  American  troops 
had  come  into  action  and  fought  their  own  battle  ir*  their 
own  way  as  best  they  could.  If  they  had  been  directed 


OLD    BATTLE     WELL    ON    FREEMAWS 
FARM,   AT  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

Here  a  Fierce  Conflict  for  Possession  Took  Place. 


252 


THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


by  an  efficient  chief,  they  would  have  ended  the  Burgoyne 
campaign  then  and  there.  As  it  was,  they  inflicted  a  se 
vere  blow.  The  Americans  had  about  3,000  men  en 
gaged;  the  British  about  3,500.  The  American  loss  was 
283  killed  and  wounded,  and  38  missing.  The  British 
loss  in  killed  and  wounded,  according  to  their  own  re- 


CELLAR    AT    THE    PRESENT    TIME    IN    THE    MARSHALL    HOUSE,   SCHUYLER- 
VILLE,    WHICH   WAS    USED  AS  A    HOSPITAL   FOR    THE  BRITISH. 

Through    the   door    is   seen    the   room    in  wliich   Madame   Riedesel  and  her   children    took  refuge  for  six  days. 

ports,  was  600.  Both  sides  fought  in  the  open,  and  the 
Americans,  after  the  first  advance,  attacked.  They  had 
few  bayonets  and  but  little  artillery,  while  the  British  had 
both  in  abundance,  yet  the  disparity  in  the  losses  showed 
again  the  superiority  of  the  American  marksmanship  and 
the  deadly  character  of  their  rifle  fire. 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN  255 

The  result  of  the  action  at  Freeman's  Farm  rejoiced 
the  Americans,  and  fresh  troops  from  the  surrounding 
country  kept  coming  into  camp.  Still  Gates  did  nothing 
except  quarrel  with  Arnold  and  relieve  him  from  his  com 
mand.  Instead  of  following  up  his  advantage  and  attack- 
ng  Burgoyne,  he  sat  still  and  looked  at  him.  This  atti- 
ude,  if  not  useful,  was  easy  and  pleasant  to  Gates  ;  but  to 
Burgoyne — harassed  by  constant  skirmishing,  deserted  by 
iis  Indians,  short  of  provisions,  and  with  no  definite  news 
of  the  promised  relief  from  the  south — it  was  impossible, 
rle  had  heard  from  Clinton  that  a  diversion  was  to  be 
made  from  New  York,  and  this  tempted  him  to  say  that 
could  hold  on  until  October  i2th.  Lord  George  Ger 
main's  orders  had  indeed  been  found  in  their  pigeon-hole 
and  finally  despatched.  Reinforcements  also  had  been 
sent  to  Clinton,  and  thus  stimulated,  he  moved  out  of 
New  York  on  October  3d  with  a  large  fleet  and  3,000 
troops.  He  easily  deceived  Putnam,  crossed  to  King's 
Ferry  and  carried  the  weakly  garrisoned  forts — Montgom 
ery  and  Clinton.  Then  the  fleet  destroyed  the  boom  and 
chain  in  the  river,  and  the  Americans  were  compelled  to 
beach  and  burn  two  frigates,  which  were  there  to  defend 
the  boom.  This  accomplished,  Sir  Henry  Clinton,  op 
pressed  by  the  lateness  of  the  season,  retraced  his  steps, 
leaving  Vaughan  to  carry  the  raid  as  far  as  Kingston, 
which  he  burned,  and  then  to  retire,  in  his  turn,  to  New 
York.  This  performance  was  what  lured  Burgoyne  to 
stand  his  ground.  But  no  amount  of  hope,  of  Clinton's 
coming  could  sustain  him  indefinitely.  Some  of  his  gen 
erals,  in  fact,  urged  retreat,  forgetting  that  this  particular 
army  was  not  to  retreat,  but  to  advance  continually.  Un 
der  the  pressure,  however,  Burgoyne  determined  to  try 


256  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

one  more  fight,  and,  if  unsuccessful,  fall  back  behind  the  \ 
Batten  Kill. 

His  plan  was  to  make  a  reconnoissance  in  force  and 
with  this  object,  at  ten  o'clock  on  October  yth,  Burgoyne 
left  his  camp  with  1,500  of  his  best  troops  and  10  pieces 
of  artillery.  Again  he  formed  them  in  three  columns, 
with  Fraser  on  the  right,  Riedesel  and  his  Brunswickers 
in  the  centre,  and  Phillips  on  the  left.  As  soon  as  the 
British  moved,  Gates  sent  out  Morgan  to  meet  the  enemy 
on  the  right  while  Learned  was  to  oppose  the  central  col 
umn,  and  Poor,  with  the  continentals,  was  to  face  Phillips. 
Poor  opened  the  battle  and,  supported  by  Learned,  at 
tacked  Acland's  grenadiers  and  broke  them  despite  their 
well-directed  fire.  Meantime,  Morgan  with  his  riflemen, 
and  Dearborn  with  the  light  infantry,  fell  upon  the  British 
right.  So  fierce  was  this  assault  that  Burgoyne.  seeing 
that  his  right  would  be  turned,  ordered  Fraser  to  fall  back 
and  take  a  new  position.  In  doing  so,  Fraser  was  mor 
tally  wounded  by  a  Virginian  rifleman.  While  the  wings 
were  thus  breaking,  the  Brunswickers  in  the  centre  held 
firm,  and  then  Arnold,  who  was  on  the  field  merely  as  a 
volunteer  and  with  no  command,  put  himself  at  the  head 
of  his  old  division  and  led  them  in  a  succession  of  charges 
against  the  German  position.  The  Brunswickers  behaved 
well  and  Burgoyne  exposed  himself  recklessly,  but  they 
could  not  stand  the  repeated  shocks.  One  regiment 
broke  and  was  rallied,  only  to  break  again.  The  Ameri 
cans  took  eight  of  the  ten  guns,  and  at  last  the  British 
were  forced  back  to  their  intrenched  camp,  where  they  ral 
lied  and  stood  their  ground.  There  Arnold  continued  his 
fierce  attacks  and  was  badly  wounded.  The  darkness 
alone  stopped  the  fight  and  saved  the  remnants  of  the 


A  PART  OF  THE  ORIGINAL  AR 


s.  3 


^ 

^ 


R^ 


b 


k 


I         s 

4      I. 

^     * 

§ 

o  .^J 

^       i 

§      i 

-S1 

^      -^ 


258  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

British  army,  but  it  had  been  a  disastrous  day  for  Bur- 
goyne.  Eraser  and  Breymann  were  both  killed,  and  Sir 
Francis  Clarke — Burgoyne's  first  aide.  The  British  lost 
426  killed  and  wounded,  200  prisoners,  nine  guns,  ammu 
nition,  and  baggage.  The  Americans  had  about  200 
killed  and  wounded. 

The  blow  was  a  deadly  one,  and  it  was  obvious  that 
nothing  now  remained  for  the  British  and  Germans  but  a 
desperate  effort  to  retreat.  After  burying  poor  Fraser  in 
the  intrenchments,  while  the  American  shot  tore  the  earth 
and  whistled  through  the  air  over  the  grave,  Burgoyne 
abandoned  his  sick  and  wounded  on  the  next  night  after 
the  battle  and  retreated  through  the  storm  to  Saratoga. 
But  the  attempt  was  hopeless,  and  even  Gates  could  not 
fail  to  conquer  him  now.  On  the  loth,  when  he  tried  to 
see  if  there  was  escape  by  the  west  bank  of  the  Hudson,  he 
found  that  Stark,  the  victor  of  Bennington,  was  at  Fort 
Edward  with  2,000  men.  On  the  i  ith  the  Americans  scat 
tered  the  British  posts  at  the  mouth  of  the  Fishkill,  capt 
ured  all  their  boats  and  nearly  all  their  provisions.  On 
the  1 2th  Burgoyne  was  surrounded.  Outnumbered  and 
exposed  to  concentric  fire,  he  yielded  to  the  inevitable, 
and  on  the  i4th  sent  in  a  flag  of  truce  to  treat  for  a  sur 
render.  Gates  demanded  that  the  surrender  be  uncondi 
tional.  Burgoyne  refused  to  consider  it.  Thereupon 
Gates,  alarmed  by  rumors  of  the  raid  and  village  burning 
under  Vaughan,  instead  of  attacking  at  once,  gave  way 
feebly  and  agreed  to  a  convention  by  which  the  British 
surrendered,  but  were  free  to  go  to  England  on  agreeing 
not  to  serve  again  against  America. 

The  convention  was  an  inglorious  one  to  Gates  when 
he  actually  held  the  British  helpless  in  his  grasp,  but  it 


ii 

1,0! 


THE  BURGOYNE  CAMPAIGN  261 

answered  every  practical  purpose.  By  the  convention  of 
October  16,  1777,  a  British  general  with  his  army  number 
ing  5,791  surrendered.  Eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-six 
prisoners  of  war  were  already  in  the  hands  of  the  Ameri 
cans.  Including  the  losses  in  the  field  and  in  the  various 
actions  from  Ticonderoga  and  Oriskany  to  Bennington 
and  Saratoga,  England  had  lost  10,000  men,  and  had  sur 
rendered  at  Saratoga  forty-two  guns  and  forty-six  hundred 
muskets. 

The  victory  had  been  won  by  the  rank  and  file,  by  the 
regiments  and  companies,  for  after  the  departure  of  Schuy- 
ler  there  was  no  general-in-chief.  The  battles  were  fought 
under  the  lead  of  division  commanders  like  Arnold,  Mor 
gan,  or  Poor,  or  else  under  popular  chiefs  like  Herkimer 
and  Stark.  But  it  was  the  American  people  who  had 
wrecked  Burgoyne.  He  came  down  into  that  still  unset 
tled  region  of  lake  and  mountain  with  all  the  pomp  and 
equipment  of  European  war.  He  brought  with  him  Ind 
ian  allies,  and  the  people  of  New  York  and  New  England 
knew  well  what  that  meant.  They  were  not  disciplined 
or  uniformed,  and  they  had  no  weapons  except  their  rifles 
and  hunting-knives.  But  they  could  fight  and  they  knew 
what  an  Indian  was,  even  though  they  had  never  seen  a 
Hessian  or  a  British  grenadier.  They  rose  up  in  Bur- 
goyne's  path,  and,  allied  with  the  wilderness,  they  began 
to  fight  him.  Regular  troops  came  to  their  support  from 
Washington's  army,  and  militia  were  sent  by  the  States 
from  the  seaboard.  Thus  the  Americans  multiplied  while 
the  British  dwindled.  The  wilderness  hemmed  in  the 
trained  troops  of  England  and  Germany,  and  the  men,  to 
whom  the  forests  and  the  streams  were  as  familiar  as  their 
own  firesides,  swarmed  about  them  with  evergrowing  num- 


262          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

bers.  At  last,  the  English  army,  reduced  one  half,  beaten 
and  crippled  in  successive  engagements,  ringed  round  by 
enemies,  surrendered.  Again,  and  more  forcibly  than  ever, 
facts  said  to  England's  Ministers  :  "  These  Americans  can 
fight ;  they  have  been  taught  to  ride  and  shoot,  and  look  a 
stranger  in  the  face  ;  they  are  of  a  fighting  stock ;  it  is  not 
well  in  a  spirit  of  contempt  to  raid  their  country  and 
threaten  their  homes  with  Indians  :  if  you  do  this  thing  in 
this  spirit,  disaster  will  come."  As  a  matter  of  fact,  disas 
ter  came,  and  Burgoyne's  expedition,  the  most  important 
sent  by  England  against  her  revolted  colonies,  failed  and 
went  to  wreck. 


CHAPTER   XI 

THE   RESULTS   OF   SARATOGA 

SARATOGA,  where  Burgoyne's  surrender  took 
place,  is  counted  by  Sir  Edward  Creasy  among 
the  fifteen  decisive  battles  of  the  world.  By 
this  verdict  the  American  victory  comes  into  a  very 
small  and  very  memorable  company.  The  world's  history 
is  full  of  battles  and  sieges,  and  among  this  almost  count 
less  host  only  fifteen  are  deemed  worthy,  by  an  accom 
plished  historian,  to  take  rank  as  decisive  in  the  widest 
sense,  and  as  affecting  the  destiny  of  mankind.  By  what 
title  does  Saratoga  rise  to  this  dignity  ?  Certainly  not 
from  the  numbers  engaged,  for  they  were  comparatively 
small.  The  victory  was  complete,  it  is  true,  but  an  army 
of  10,000  men  has  been  beaten  and  has  surrendered  many 
times  without  deciding  anything,  not  even  the  issue  of  a 
campaign.  From  the  military  point  of  view  the  blow  was 
a  heavy  one  to  England,  but  she  has  suffered  much  greater 
losses  than  this  in  her  career  of  conquest  and  still  has 
come  out  victorious. 

The  fact  is  that  the  significance  of  Saratoga  lies  less 
in  what  it  actually  was,  than  in  what  it  proved  and  what 
it  brought  to  pass.  It  showed  the  fighting  quality  of  the 
American  people,  and  demonstrated  that  they  were  able 

to  rise  up  around  a  powerful  and  disciplined    force   and 

263 


264  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

hunt  it  down  to  ruin  and  surrender.  The  prospect  of 
conquering  a  people  capable  of  such  fighting,  defended 
by  three  thousand  miles  of  ocean  and  backed  by  the 
wilderness,  was  obviously  slight.  Saratoga  meant,  further, 
that  the  attempt  to  control  the  Hudson,  and  thus  divide 
the  States,  had  definitely  failed.  The  enormous  advantage 
of  a  country  united  for  military  purposes  had  been  won, 
and  the  union  of  the  new  States,  which,  physically  as  well 
as  politically,  was  essential  to  victory,  had  been  secured, 
and,  once  secured,  this  meant  ultimate  success.  Last,  and 
most  important  of  all,  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne  and  the 
utter  wreck  of  his  campaign  convinced  Europe  of  these 
very  facts,  or,  in  other  words,  assured  foreign  powers  that 
the  revolted  colonies  would  win  in  the  end.  It  required 
the  keen  intellect  of  Frederick  the  Great  to  appreciate 
Trenton  and  Princeton.  He  realized  that  those  battles, 
flashing  out  from  the  clouds  of  defeat  and  misfortune, 
meant  that  the  Americans  had  developed  a  great  leader, 
a  soldier  of  genius,  and  that  under  such  a  man  a  fighting 
people  could  not  be  beaten  by  an  enemy  whose  base  of 
supplies  was  3,000  miles  away.  But  no  Frederick  was 
needed  to  comprehend  Saratoga,  where  there  had  been 
no  strategy,  nothing  but  hard,  blunt  fighting,  ending  in 
the  effacement  of  a  British  army  and  the  ruin  of  a  cam 
paign  of  vital  importance.  This  was  clear  to  all  men  in 
the  despatches  which  announced  Burgoyne's  surrender, 
and  the  knowledge  brought  America  supplies,  money, 
and  allies.  Alone,  the  colonies  could  not  be  conquered. 
With  a  European  alliance  their  victory  became  certain. 

To  understand  exactly  what  was  wrought  by  the  fight 
ing  in  those  northern  forests,  it  is  necessary  to  know  the 
conditions  existing  on  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  at  the 


THE    RESULTS    OF   SARATOGA  265 

time  when  the  men  of  New  York  and  Virginia  and  New 
England  finally  brought  their  quarry  down  at  Saratoga. 
The  American  Revolution  was  fought  out  not  only  in  the 
field  but  in  the  Cabinets  of  Europe  as  well.  The  new  na 
tion  not  only  had  to  win  battles  and  sustain  defeats,  but 
also  to  gain  recognition  at  the  great  tribunal  of  public  opin 
ion  and  prove  its  right  to  live.  Statesmen  were  required 
as  well  as  commanders  of  armies  and  captains  of  frigates, 
in  order  to  break  the  British  Empire  and  establish  a  new 
people  among  the  nations  of  the  earth.  The  statesmen 
came.  They,  indeed,  had  begun  the  work,  for  it  had 
fallen  to  them  to  argue  the  American  cause  with  Eng 
land,  and  then  to  state  to  the  world  the  reasons  and  neces 
sity  for  independence.  Even  before  this  was  done,  how. 
ever,  it  had  become  evident  to  the  leaders  in  Congress 
that  the  American  cause,  in  order  to  succeed,  must  be 
recognized  in  Europe,  and  must  even  obtain  there  an  ac 
tive  support.  So  it  came  about  that  the  political  leaders 
in  America,  after  this  was  fairly  understood,  as  a  rule 
either  returned  to  their  States,  where  the  most  energetic 
assistance  could  be  given  to  the  Revolution,  or  went 
abroad  to  plead  their  country's  cause  in  foreign  lands. 
Congress  sank  in  ability  and  strength  in  consequence,  but 
as  it  never  could  have  been  an  efficient  executive  body 
in  any  event,  this  was  of  less  moment  than  that  the  high 
est  political  ability  of  the  country  should  be  concentrated 
on  the  most  vital  points.  Thus  it  was  that  the  strength 
of  American  statesmanship,  after  the  Declaration  of  In 
dependence,  instinctively  turned  to  diplomacy  as  the  field 
where  the  greatest  results  could  be  achieved,  and  where 
alone  allies,  money,  and  supplies  could  be  obtained.  The 
beginnings  were  small  and  modest  enough,  and  Congress 


266  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

hesitated  in  this  direction  as  long  and  as  seriously  as  it  did 
in  regard  to  independence  ;  for  foreign  aid  and  alliance, 
as  much  as  war,  meant  final  separation  from  the  mother- 
country. 

The  resistance  of  the  colonies  to  England  had  gradually 
attracted  the  attention  of  Europe.  The  continental  gov 
ernments  generally  were  slow  to  see  the  importance  of 
this  transatlantic  movement ;  but  the  French,  still  smarting 
under  the  loss  of  Canada,  were  quick  to  perceive  how 
much  it  might  mean  to  them  in  the  way  of  revenge. 
Bunker  Hill  roused  them  and  riveted  their  attention. 
Vergennes,  watching  events  closely  and  from  the  first 
eager  to  strike  at  England,  secretly  sent  M.  de  Bon- 
vouloir,  a  former  resident  of  the  West  Indies,  to  visit 
America  and  report.  De  Bonvouloir,  on  reaching  Phila 
delphia,  had  a  private  interview  with  Franklin,  and  re 
ported  that,  although  the  resistance  to  England  was  deter 
mined,  the  Americans  hesitated  to  seek  foreign  aid.  This, 
without  doubt,  was  a  true  picture  of  the  situation  and  of 
the  state  of  American  feeling  at  that  time.  Yet,  a  little 
later,  in  December,  1775,  Congress  made  a  first  timid 
step  toward  outside  assistance  by  authorizing  Arthur  Lee 
—then  in  London — to  ascertain  the  feeling  of  the  Euro 
pean  governments  in  regard  to  the  colonies.  Arthur  Lee 
was  one  of  the  distinguished  brothers  of  the  well-known 
Virginian  family.  He  was  intelligent  and  well-educated, 
having  taken  a  degree  in  medicine  and  then  studied  law 
He  was  an  accomplished  man  with  a  good  address,  and 
ample  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  society.  In  ability 
he  did  not  rise  to  the  level  of  the  very  difficult  task  which 
developed  before  him  later,  and  he  proved  to  have  a  jeal 
ous  and  quarrelsome  disposition  which  led  him  to  intrigue 


THE    RESULTS    OF    SARATOGA  267 

against  Franklin  and  into  other  serious  troubles.  At  this 
time,  however,  he  did  very  well,  for  he  had  been  the  agent 
of  Massachusetts,  and  knew  his  ground  thoroughly.  He 
seems  to  have  obtained  good  information,  and,  what  was 
still  more  important,  he  came  into  relations  with  a  man 
who  at  this  juncture  was  destined  to  be  of  great  service  to 
America.  This  was  Beaumarchais,  mechanician  and  mer 
chant,  orator  and  financier,  writer  and  politician.  Above 
all,  Beaumarchais  was  the  child  of  his  time,  the  author  of 
"The  Barber  of  Seville,"  the  creator  of  "Figaro,"  which 
played  its  part  in  preparing  the  way  for  what  was  to  come. 
As  the  child  of  his  time,  too,  he  was  infected  with  the 
spirit  of  change,  filled  with  liberal  views  and  hopes  for 
humanity,  which  were  soon  to  mean  many  things  besides 
a  philosophic  temper  of  mind.  So  the  American  cause 
appealed  to  him  as  Frenchman,  speculator,  adventurer,  and 
friend  of  humanity  and  progress.  He  saw  Lee  in  London  ; 
is  said  to  have  gone  there  eight  times  for  that  purpose  ; 
and  presently  stood  as  the  connecting  .link  between  the 
ancient  monarchy  and  the  young  republic  of  America. 

Vergennes,  pressing  steadily  toward  action  in  behalf  of 
the  revolting  English  colonies,  was  opposed  in  the  Cabinet 
by  Turgot,  who  sympathized  deeply  with  the  American 
cause,  but  rightly  felt  that  France  was  in  no  condition  to 
face  another  war.  With  Turgot  was  Maurepas,  and  Ver 
gennes  could  advance  but  slowly  in  his  policy.  Never 
theless,  he  got  something  done.  In  May,  1776,  he  sent 
$200,000  to  the  Americans,  and  persuaded  Spain  to  do  the 
same.  It  was  all  effected  very  secretly  through  Beau 
marchais,  but  still  it  was  done. 

Meantime,  Congress  was  moving,  too.  In  March, 
1776,  it  appointed  Silas  Deane,  a  merchant  of  Connecti- 


268  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

cut,  as  agent  and  commissioner  to  France,  to  secretly 
sound  the  government,  and  also  to  see  what  could  be 
done  in  Holland.  Deane  was  an  energetic,  pushing  man, 
who  rendered  good  service,  but  he  was  careless  in  making 
contracts,  was  attacked  and  misrepresented  by  Lee,  re 
called  from  Europe,  and  being  injudicious  in  his  defence, 
he  dropped  oat  of  public  life.  Like  Lee,  however,  he  did 
well  in  the  early  days.  He  reached  France  in  July,  1 776, 
and  was  admitted  on  the  nth  to  an  interview  with  Ver- 
gennes.  On  the  2Oth  he  obtained  a  promise  of  arms,  and 
again  Beaumarchais  was  authorized  to  supply  merchandise 
to  the  value  of  three  million  livres.  When  the  Declara 
tion  of  Independence  was  known,  Vergennes  urged  action 
more  strongly  than  ever,  and  Congress — now  that  the  die 
was  cast — discussed  the  draft  of  a  treaty  with  France,  and, 
what  was  far  more  important,  appointed  Franklin  as  a 
commissioner  with  Deane  and  Lee  to  negotiate  with  the 
French  Government.  Franklin  reached  Paris  as  the  year 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  and  was  received  with  enthusiastic 
warmth.  He  was  known  all  over  Europe,  and  especially 
in  France,  where  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  science  and  a 
philosopher,  as  a  writer  and  philanthropist,  added  to  his 
fame  as  a  public  man,  made  him  as  popular  and  admired 
as  he  was  distinguished.  His  coming  changed  the  com 
plexion  of  affairs  and  gave  a  seriousness  to  the  negotiations 
which  they  had  lacked  before.  Public  sympathy,  too,  was 
awakened,  and  Lafayette,  young  and  enthusiastic,  prepared 
to  depart  at  his  own  expense  to  serve  as  a  volunteer  in 
the  cause  of  liberty.  So,  too,  went  De  Kalb,  and  a  little 
later,  Pulaski  ;  and  then  Kosciusko,  together  with  a  crowd 
of  less  desirable  persons  who  saw  in  the  American  war  a 
field  for  adventure. 


THE    RESULTS    OF    SARATOGA  269 

On  December  28th  Franklin  was  received  by  Ver- 
gennes  and  greatly  encouraged  by  him.  The  opposition 
in  the  Cabinet  was  giving  way,  and  although  nothing 
could  be  done  with  Spain,  despite  the  efforts  of  Ver- 
gennes  to  make  her  act  with  France,  American  affairs 
were  moving  smoothly  and  propitiously.  Then  came  the 
news  of  the  defeats  on  the  Hudson,  and  everything  was 
checked.  It  seemed,  after  all,  as  if  it  was  not  such  a  seri 
ous  matter,  as  if  England  had  but  to  exert  herself  to  put 
an  end  to  it,  and  so  there  was  a  general  drawing  back. 
France  stopped  on  the  way  to  a  treaty  and  refused  to  do 
anything  leading  to  war.  She  continued  to  secretly  ad 
vance  money,  sent  ships  with  arms,  and  allowed  American 
privateers  in  her  ports,  but  beyond  this  she  would  not  go, 
and  all  the  popularity  and  address  of  Franklin  were  for 
the  time  vain. 

But  as  the  months  wore  away,  the  attention  of  Europe 
was  fixed  on  the  northern  campaign  which  was  to  break 
the  colonies  and  crush  the  rebellion.  Before  the  year 
closed,  the  news  of  Saratoga  had  crossed  the  Atlantic.  It 
was  received  in  England  with  consternation,  Lord  North 
was  overwhelmed.  He  saw  that  it  meant  a  French  alli 
ance,  the  loss  of  the  colonies,  perhaps  French  conquests. 
He  went  as  far  as  he  could  in  framing  conciliatory  propo 
sitions,  and  appointed  a  commission  to  take  them  to 
America — but  it  was  all  too  late.  As  Washington  said, 
an  acknowledged  independence  was  now  the  only  possible 
peace.  The  King,  who  was  not  clever  like  Lord  North, 
failed  to  see  the  meaning  of  Saratoga,  and  was  ready  to 
face  a  world  in  arms  rather  than  yield  to  rebels.  In  Eng 
land,  therefore,  Burgoyne's  surrender  brought  nothing  but 
abortive  concessions,  which  two  years  earlier  would  have 


270  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

settled  everything,  and  fresh  preparations  for  a  struggle 
fast  drawing  into  hopelessness. 

In  France  the  result  was  widely  different.  Paris  heard 
the  tidings  of  Saratoga  with  joy,  and  Vergennes  received 
the  commissioners  on  December  i2th.  He  made  no  se 
cret  of  his  pleasure  in  the  news  which  sustained  the  posi 
tion  he  had  taken,  and  he  also  understood,  what  very  few 
at  that  moment  comprehended,  the  immense  importance 
and  meaning  of  Washington's  stubborn  fighting  with 
Howe  while  the  northern  victories  were  being  won.  On 
December  2Oth  Franklin  and  Deane  were  informed  that 
the  King  would  acknowledge  the  colonies  and  support 
their  cause.  On  February  6th  two  treaties  were  made 
between  France  and  the  United  States,  one  of  amity  and 
commerce,  and  the  other  an  eventual  treaty  of  defensive 
alliance.  On  March  2Oth  the  American  commissioners 
were  at  Versailles  and  were  presented  to  the  King,  and  on 
the  22d  they  were  received  by  Marie  Antoinette.  On 
April  roth  Gerard  was  sent  as  Minister  to  the  United 
States,  and  the  alliance  was  complete.  England,  formally 
notified  of  the  treaties,  accepted  them  as  an  act  of  war. 
Burgoyne's  surrender  had  done  its  work,  and  France  had 
cast  her  sword  into  the  scale  against  England.  The  men 
who  had  fought  side  by  side  with  British  soldiers,  and 
gloried  in  the  winning  of  Canada,  were  now  united  with 
the  French,  whom  they  had  then  helped  to  conquer,  in  the 
common  purpose  of  tearing  from  the  empire  of  Britain 
the  fairest  and  greatest  part  of  her  colonial  dominion. 
The  English  Ministers  and  the  English  King,  who  had 
made  such  a  situation  possible  by  sheer  blundering,  may 
well  have  looked  with  wonder  at  the  work  of  their  hands. 

The  diplomacy  of  the  Americans  was  as  fortunate  as 


THE    RESULTS    OF    SARATOGA  271 

their  conduct  of  the  original  controversy  with  the  mother- 
country.  Almost  everywhere  they  secured  a  reception 
which  assured  them,  if  not  actual  support,  at  least  a  be 
nevolent  neutrality.  Russia  refused  troops  to  England 
and  manifested  a  kindly  interest  in  the  new  States.  Hol 
land,  who  had  herself  fought  her  way  to  freedom,  and  could 
not  forget  her  kindred  in  the  New  World,  not  only  refused 
to  give  troops  to  George  III.,  but  openly  sympathized 
with  the  rebels,  and  later  lent  them  money,  for  all  which 
she  was  to  suffer  severely  at  the  hands  of  England.  The 
northern  powers  stood  aloof  and  neutral.  Austria  sym 
pathized  slightly,  but  did  nothing.  Spain,  despite  the 
pressure  of  Vergennes,  could  not  be  stirred,  and  Lee's 
expedition  to  Burgos,  where  he  met  Grimaldi,  in  the  win 
ter  of  1776-77,  bore  no  fruit.  Lee,  who  was  not  lacking 
in  zeal  and  energy,  also  went  to  Berlin.  He  was  well 
received  there  by  Frederick,  who  looked  with  unfeigned 
contempt  on  the  blundering  of  his  cousin  George,  and  pre 
dicted  the  success  of  the  colonies,  but  who  would  not  at 
that  moment  engage  himself  in  the  controversy.  While 
Lee  was  in  Berlin,  the  British  Minister,  Elliott,  hired  a 
thief  for  one  thousand  guineas  to  break  into  the  American 
Envoy's  room  and  steal  his  papers.  Lee  recovered  the 
papers  on  complaining  to  the  police,  but  this  unusual 
diplomatic  performance  caused  Frederick  to  refuse  to  see 
Elliott,  to  enter  on  his  Cabinet  record  that  the  act  of  the 
British  Minister  was  "a  public  theft,"  and  to  increase  the 
kindness  and  consideration  with  which  he  treated  Lee. 

On  the  whole,  the  diplomacy  of  the  new-born  nation 
was  highly  successful.  The  American  representatives 
made  a  good  impression  wherever  they  appeared,  and 
turned  to  excellent  account  the  unpopularity  of  England. 


2/2  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

They  soon  satisfied  themselves  that  they  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  Europe  and  much  to  hope  which  cleared  the 
ground  and  enabled  the  United  States  to  face  the  future 
with  the  knowledge  that  England  could  look  for  no  aid 
against  them  outside  her  own  resources.  They  were  des 
tined  to  get  much  more  from  Europe  than  this  negative 
assurance  ;  but  the  beginning  was  well  made.  The  scene 
of  their  greatest  efforts  was,  of  course,  in  France,  and 
there  they  attained  to  the  height  of  their  desires  on  the 
strength  of  Burgoyne's  surrender.  Congress,  appreciating 
more  and  more  the  work  to  be  done  abroad,  sent  out  John 
Adams  to  replace  Deane.  He  arrived  after  the  signing  of 
the  treaties,  but  his  coming  was  most  fortunate,  for  Frank 
lin's  colleagues  were  disposed  to  be  jealous  of  him  and  to 
intrigue  against  him.  As  so  often  happens,  they  were  in 
ferior  men,  who  could  not  understand  why  the  superior 
man  was  looked  up  to  as  the  real  leader.  But  no  jealousy 
could  obscure  the  facts.  Franklin  was  the  hero  of  the 
hour  and  the  admired  of  Court  and  city.  His  simple 
ways,  his  strong  and  acute  intellect,  his  keen  humor,  his 
astute  diplomacy,  all  standing  out  against  the  background 
of  his  scientific  fame,  appealed  strongly  to  Frenchmen  and 
to  the  mood  of  the  hour.  Statesmen  listened  to  him  re 
spectfully,  the  great  ladies  of  the  brilliant  and  frivolous 
Court  flattered  and  admired  him,  the  crowds  cheered  him 
in  the  streets,  and  when  the  Academy  received  Voltaire, 
the  audience,  comprising  all  that  was  most  distinguished 
in  arts  and  letters,  demanded  that  he  and  Franklin  should 
embrace  each  other  in  their  presence. 

The  first  impulse  is  to  laugh  at  those  two  old  men, 
worn  with  experience  and  wise  with  much  knowledge  of 
the  world,  sceptics  both  in  their  different  ways,  solemnly 


BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN. 

the  painting  by  Duplessis,  1778,  in   (he  Pennsylvania   Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  Philadelphia.     Owned  by  Dr.  Clifford  F.  Snyder, 

fart's,  trance. 


THE    RESULTS    OF    SARATOGA  275 

kissing  each  other  amid  the  excited  plaudits  of  that  brill 
iant  assemblage.  It  seems  almost  impossible  not  to  imag 
ine  that  the  keen  sense  of  humor  which  both  possessed  in 
such  a  high  degree  should  not  have  been  kindled  as  the 
wrinkled,  withered  face  of  Voltaire  drew  near  to  that  of 
Franklin,  smooth,  simple-looking,  and  benevolent,  with 
the  broad  forehead  arching  over  the  cunning,  penetrating 
eyes.  Yet  this,  if  the  most  obvious,  is  also  the  superficial 
view.  Both  actors  and  audience  took  the  whole  ceremony 
with  seriousness  and  emotion,  and  they  were  right  to  do  so, 
for  there  is  a  deep  significance  in  that  famous  scene  of  the 
Academy.  Voltaire's  course  was  run,  while  Franklin  had 
many  years  of  great  work  still  before  him  ;  but  both  were 
children  of  the  century  ;  both  represented  the  great  move 
ment  of  the  time  for  intellectual  and  political  freedom, 
then  beginning  to  culminate.  Franklin,  although  he  had 
passed  the  age  of  the  Psalmist,  represented  also  the  men 
who  were  even  then  trying  to  carry  into  practice  what 
Voltaire  had  taught,  and  to  build  anew  on  the  ground 
which  he  had  cleared.  Voltaire  stood  above  all  else  for 
the  spirit  which  destroyed  in  order  to  make  room  for  bet 
ter  things.  If  Cervantes  laughed  Spain's  chivalry  away, 
Voltaire's  sneering  smile  had  shattered  faiths,  beliefs,  and 
habits  which  for  centuries  had  lain  at  the  very  foundation 
of  government  and  society.  Revolutions  in  thought  are 
not  made  with  rose-water,  any  more  than  other  revolu 
tions,  and  Voltaire  had  spared  nothing.  His  wonderful 
intellect,  as  versatile  as  it  was  ingenious,  had  struck  at 
everything  that  was  accepted.  The  most  sacred  beliefs 
and  the  darkest  superstitions,  the  foulest  abuses  and  the 
noblest  traditions,  had  all  alike  shrivelled  beneath  his 
satire,  quivered  under  his  scorn,  and  shrunk  from  his  ridi- 


276  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

cule.  Those  that  deserved  to  live  survived  it  all  to  bloom 
again.  Those  that  deserved  to  die  perished  beneath  the 
blight.  He  had  mocked  at  religion  until  scepticism  had 
become  fashionable,  and  the  Church  itself  was  laughed  at 
and  disregarded.  He  had  sneered  at  governments  and 
rulers  and  courts,  until  all  reverence  for  them  had  de 
parted.  He  had  lashed  the  optimism  of  those  who  pos 
sessed  the  earth,  until  their  doctrines  appeared  a  hideous 
sham,  and  the  miseries  of  men  the  only  realities.  He  was 
the  destroyer  without  whom  the  deep  abuses  of  the  time 
could  never  have  been  reached  or  remedied.  But  he 
offered  nothing,  and  men  cannot  live  on  negations.  As 
he  cleared  the  ground,  other  men  rose  up  seeking  to  re 
place  the  ruined  and  lost  ideals  with  new  and  better  hopes. 
If  mankind  was  miserable,  there  must  be  some  cure.  If 
governments  were  bad,  and  kings  and  courts  evil,  they 
must  be  replaced  by  the  people  whom  they  ruled  and 
oppressed.  If  the  Church  was  a  fraud,  and  religion  a 
superstition,  salvation  must  be  found  in  the  worship  of 
humanity. 

In  France,  bankrupt,  oppressed,  misgoverned,  and  yet 
the  intellectual  centre  of  Europe,  this  great  movement 
came  to  full  life.  It  was  there  that  the  old  dykes  had 
been  broken  and  the  rushing  tide  of  new  thought  had 
poured  in.  There  Voltaire  had  swept  men  from  their  old 
moorings,  and  there  Rousseau  and  many  others  were 
dreaming  dreams  and  seeing  visions  of  the  regeneration  of 
mankind.  Suddenly,  into  this  society  fermenting  with 
new  ideas  and  preparing,  all  unconsciously,  for  armed  rev 
olution,  came  the  news  of  the  American  revolt.  Here, 
then,  it  seemed  were  men  3,000  miles  away  who  were 
actually  trying,  in  a  practical,  tangible  manner,  to  do  that 


THE    RESULTS    OF    SARATOGA  277 

very  thing  about  which  the  intellect  and  the  imagination 
of  France  were  reasoning  and  dreaming.  Thus  the  Amer 
ican  appeal  thrilled  through  this  great  and  brilliant  French 
society  which  seemed  on  the  surface  so  remote  from  the 
fishers  and  choppers  and  ploughmen,  who,  far  away  on 
the  verge  of  the  wilderness,  were  trying  to  constitute  a 
state.  The  ministers  and  statesmen,  dealing  with  facts, 
instructed  as  to  precedents,  and  blind  to  the  underlying 
forces,  saw  in  the  revolt  of  the  American  Colonies  an  op 
portunity  to  cripple  England  and  thus  reduce  their  enemy 
and  rival.  They  saw  correctly  so  far  as  they  saw  at  all. 
France  sustained  the  colonies,  and  the  British  Empire  was 
broken.  But  they  did  not  see  what  lay  beyond  ;  they  did 
not  understand  that  they  were  paving  the  way  for  the 
overthrow  of  monarchies  other  than  that  which  ruled 
North  America  ;  nor  was  it  in  the  deeper  sense  due  to 
them  that  France  became  the  ally  of  the  United  States. 

They  were  borne  along  by  a  mightier  force  than  any 
thing  they  had  ever  known,  and  of  which  they  had  no  real 
conception.  The  King,  with  a  mental  capacity  sufficient 
only  for  a  good  locksmith,  had  a  dumb  animal  instinct  of 
race  which  made  him  dislike  the  whole  American  policy. 
He  received  Franklin  coldly,  almost  gruffly,  and  yielded 
reluctantly  to  his  Ministers.  Yet  he,  too,  was  driven 
along  by  a  force  as  irresistible  as  it  was  unseen,  which  fi 
nally  having  broken  all  bounds  swept  him  to  the  prison 
and  the  scaffold.  Louis's  royal  instinct  was  entirely  right 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  and  much  truer  than  the  judg 
ment  of  his  keen  and  well-instructed  Ministers.  Kings 
had  no  business  to  be  backing  up  revolted  colonists,  for 
the  cause  of  America  was  the  cause  of  the  people  against 
all  kings.  It  was  for  this  very  reason  that  it  appealed  not 


278          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

only  to  the  intellect  of  France,  which  had  thrown  down 
the  old  beliefs  and  was  seeking  a  new  creed,  but  to  the 
French  people,  who  were  beginning  to  stir  blindly  and 
ominously  with  a  sense  of  their  wrongs  and  their  power. 
This  was  why  the  American  cry  for  aid  aroused  the  en 
thusiasm  and  the  sympathy  of  France.  The  democratic 
movement,  still  hidden  in  the  shadows  and  the  depths,  but 
none  the  less  beginning  to  move  and  live  in  France,  recog 
nized,  instinctively,  the  meaning  of  the  same  movement 
which  had  started  into  full  life  in  America  with  arms  in 
its  hand.  This  was  the  deep,  underlying  cause  of  the 
French  alliance  when  the  surrender  of  Burgoyne  said,  not 
merely  to  Ministers  intent  on  policy,  but  to  a  nation  with 
visions  in  its  brain,  here  is  an  armed  people,  not  only 
fighting  for  the  rights  of  man,  but  fighting  victoriously, 
and  bringing  to  wreck  and  extinction  a  King's  army  which 
had  been  sent  against  them. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FABIUS 

THE  intimate  connection  between  the  northern  cam 
paign  against  Burgoyne  and  that  conducted  at 
the  same  time  by  the  main  army,  under  Wash 
ington,  has  been  too  much  overlooked.  If  the  English 
army  in  the  south  had  been  able  or  ready  to  push  forward 
to  Albany  at  all  hazards,  nothing  could  have  stayed  the 
success  of  Burgoyne  and  the  consequent  control  by  the 
British  of  the  line  of  the  Hudson.  Lord  George  Ger 
main's  pigeon-holed  order  and  country  visits  counted  for 
something  in  delaying  any  British  movement  from  New 
York  ;  but  if  the  main  army  had  been  free  and  unchecked, 
not  even  tardy  orders  or  the  dulness  of  Howe  and  Clinton 
would  have  prevented  an  effective  advance  in  full  force  up 
the  Hudson  instead  of  the  abortive  raid  of  a  comparatively 
small  detachment.  The  reason  that  relief  did  not  reach 
Burgoyne  from  the  south  was  simply  that  the  British  army 
there  was  otherwise  engaged  and  could  not  come.  Wash 
ington  had  entire  confidence,  after  the  British  reached  Ti- 
conderoga,  that  the  whole  expedition  would  end  in  failure 
and  defeat.  He  was  confident,  because  he  understood  all 
the  conditions  thoroughly.  He  had  been  a  backwoods 
fighter  in  his  youth,  he  had  seen  Braddock  routed,  in  the 

midst  of  that  disaster  he  had  saved  the  remnants  of  the 

279 


280  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

shattered,  panic-stricken  army,  and  he  knew  that  the  people 
of  New  England  and  New  York,  rising  in  defence  of  their 
homes,  and  backed  by  the  wilderness,  would  sooner  or  later 
destroy  any  regular  army  with  a  distant  base  and  long  com 
munications.  For  this  success  there  was  only  one  abso 
lutely  indispensable  condition :  no  army  from  the  south 
must  be  allowed  to  meet  the  invaders  from  the  north. 
That  they  should  not,  depended  on  him,  and  hence  his 
confidence  in  Schuyler's  measures  and  in  the  ultimate  de 
struction  of  Burgoyne.  Yet  the  task  before  him  was  a 
severe  one,  in  reality  far  graver  and  more  difficult  than 
that  wrought  out  so  bravely  and  well  by  the  people  of  the 
north. 

Washington,  in  the  first  and  chief  place,  had  no  wilder 
ness  as  an  ally.  He  was  facing  the  principal  English  army, 
better  equipped,  better  disciplined,  much  more  numerous 
than  his  own,  and  operating  in  a  settled  country  and  over 
good  roads.  Flis  enemy  controlled  the  sea,  and  a  seaport 
was  their  base  of  supplies.  They  therefore  had  no  long 
line  of  communications,  were  not  obliged,  and  could  not 
be  compelled,  to  live  off  the  country,  were  in  no  danger 
of  starvation,  and  were  quartered  in  towns  where  a  large 
proportion  of  the  inhabitants  were  loyal  to  the  crown. 
Washington's  problem  was  to  hold  the  main  British  army 
where  they  were  and  make  it  impossible  for  them  to  march 
north  while  the  season  permitted.  This  he  had  to  do  by 
sheer  force  of  his  own  skill  and  courage  with  a  half-formed, 
half-drilled  army,  an  inefficient  government  behind  him, 
and  meagre  and  most  uncertain  resources.  To  succeed, 
he  had  to  hold  his  army  together  at  all  hazards,  and 
keep  the  field,  so  that  the  British  would  never  dare  to 
march  north  and  leave  him  in  their  rear.  In  order  to  ac- 


FABIUS  281 

complish  this  result  he  would  have  to  fight  again  and  again, 
keep  the  enemy  in  check,  employ  them,  delay  them,  con 
sume  time,  and  no  matter  what  reverses  might  befall  him, 
never  suffer  a  defeat  to  become  a  rout,  or  permit  his  army 
to  break  and  lose  its  spirit.  The  story  of  the  campaign  of 
1777  on  the  northern  border  has  been  told.  The  way  in 
which  Washington  dealt  with  his  own  problem  and  faced 
his  difficulties  is  the  story  of  the  other  campaign  which 
went  on  all  through  that  same  spring  and  summer  in  the 
Middle  States,  and  upon  which  the  fate  of  Burgoyne  so 
largely  turned. 

After  his  victory  at  Princeton,  at  the  beginning  of  the 
year,  Washington  withdrew  to  Morristovvn,  and  there  re 
mained  in  winter  quarters  until  May.  His  militia,  as 
usual,  left  him  as  their  terms  of  enlistment  expired,  his 
army  at  times  was  reduced  almost  to  a  shadow,  but  still  he 
kept  his  ground  and  maintained  his  organization,  which 
was  the  one  great  problem  of  the  winter.  In  the  spring 
the  needed  levies  came  in,  and  Washington  at  once  took 
the  field  and  occupied  a  strong  position  at  Middlebrook. 
Howe  came  out  from  Brunswick,  looked  at  the  American 
position,  decided  that  it  was  too  strong  to  be  forced,  and 
withdrew  to  Amboy.  He  made  another  effort  when  he 
heard  the  American  army  was  at  Ouibbletown,  but  Wash 
ington  eluded  him,  and  Howe  then  passed  over  to  Staten 
Island  and  abandoned  New  Jersey  entirely. 

Washington  saw  so  plainly  what  the  British  ought  to 
do  that  he  supposed  Howe  would  surely  make  every  sacri 
fice  to  unite  with  Burgoyne  and  would  direct  all  his  ener 
gies  to  that  end.  He  therefore  expected  him  to  move  at 
once  up  the  Hudson,  and  accordingly  advanced  himself  to 
Ramapo,  so  that  he  might  be  within  striking  distance  of 


282  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

New  York  ;  for  he  was  determined  at  all  costs  to  prevent 
the  junction  with  Burgoyne,  which  he  knew  was  the  one 
vital  point  of  the  campaign.  For  six  weeks  he  remained 
in  ignorance  of  Howe's  intentions,  but  at  last,  on  July 
24th,  he  learned  that  Howe  had  sailed  with  the  bulk  of 
the  army,  and  that  the  entire  fleet  was  heading  to  the 
south.  Thereupon  he  marched  toward  Philadelphia,  but 
hearing  that  the  fleet  had  been  seen  off  the  capes  of  the 
Delaware  and  had  then  been  lost  sight  of,  he  concluded 
that  Howe  was  bound  for  Charleston,  and  made  up  his 
mind  to  return  to  New  York,  as  he  felt  that  the  troops 
still  there  would  certainly  be  used  to  reach  Burgoyne,  if 
the  American  army  on  any  pretext  could  be  drawn  away. 

He  had  not  entirely  fathomed,  however,  the  intelligence 
of  the  British  commanders.  That  which  was  clear  to  him 
as  the  one  thing  to  be  done,  had  not  occupied  Howe's  mind 
at  all.  He  was  not  thinking  of  Burgoyne,  did  not  under 
stand  the  overwhelming  importance  of  that  movement,  and 
had  planned  to  take  Philadelphia  from  the  south,  having 
failed  to  get  Washington  out  of  his  path  in  New  Jersey. 
So  when  he  sailed  he  was  making  for  Philadelphia,  an  im 
portant  town,  but  valueless  in  a  military  point  of  view  at 
that  particular  juncture.  Definite  news  that  the  British 
were  in  the  Chesapeake  reached  Washington  just  in  time 
to  prevent  his  return  to  New  York,  and  he  at  once  set  out 
to  meet  the  enemy.  His  task  at  last  was  clear  to  him. 
If  possible,  he  must  save  Philadelphia,  and  if  that  could 
not  be  done,  at  least  he  must  hold  Howe  there,  and  stop 
his  going  north  after  the  capture  of  the  city.  He  there 
fore  marched  rapidly  southward,  and  passed  through  Phila 
delphia,  to  try  to  encourage  by  his  presence  the  loyal,  and 
•chill  the  disaffected  in  that  divided  town.  The  intention 


FABIUS 


283 


was  excellent,  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  his  army  could 
not  have  made  a  very  gratifying  or  deep  impression.  The 
troops  were  ill-armed,  poorly  clothed,  and  so  nearly  des 
titute  of  uniforms,  that  the  soldiers  were  forced  to  wear 
sprigs  of  green  in  their  hats  in  order  to  give  themselves 


WASHINGTON'S   HEAD-QUARTERS,  NEAR    CHAD'S  FORD,  AT  THE    TIME  OF 
THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BRANDYWINE. 

some  slight  appearance  of  identity  in  organization  and  pur 
pose.  Nevertheless,  poorly  as  they  looked,  their  spirit 
was  good  ;  they  meant  to  fight,  and  when  Washington 
halted  south  of  Wilmington,  he  sent  forward  Maxwell's 
corps  and  then  waited  the  coming  of  the  enemy. 

Howe  having  lingered  six  weeks  in  New  York,  with  no 


284 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


apparent  purpose,  had  consumed  another  precious  month 
in  his  voyage,  and  did  not  finally  land  his  men  until 
August  25th.  This  done,  he  advanced  slowly  along  the 
Elk,  and  it  was  September  3d  when  he  reached  Aitken's 
Tavern,  and  encountered  Maxwell,  who  was  driven  back 
after  a  sharp  skirmish.  Howe  pressed  on,  expecting  to 
take  the  Americans  at  a  disadvantage,  but  Washington 


LAFAYETTE'S  HEAD-QUARTERS, 
NEAR  CHAD'S  FORD,  DURING 
THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BRAN- 
DYWINE. 


slipped  away  from  him  and  took  a  strong  and  advantage 
ous  position  at  Chad's  Ford  on  the  Brandywine,  where 
he  determined  to  make  a  stand  and  risk  a  battle,  although 
he  had  only  11,000  effective  men,  and  Howe  had  brought 
18,000  from  New  York.  Possessing  the  advantage  of 
position,  he  had  a  chance  to  win,  and  he  meant  to  take 
every  chance.  With  the  main  army  he  held  Chad's  Ford  ; 
the  lower  fords  were  held  by  the  Pennsylvania  militia  on 


FABIUS 


28; 


the  left,  while  Sullivan,  in  command  of  the  right  wing,  was 
to  guard  those  above  the  main  army.  This  important 
work  Sullivan  failed  to  do,  or  did  imperfectly,  and  from 
this  failure  came  defeat.  On  the  nth,  Knyphausen,  with 
7,000  men,  came  to  Chad's  Ford  and  made  a  feint  of 


BIRMINGHAM 

MEETING-HOUSE 


BIRMINGHAM  MEETING-HOUSE.   NEAR   CHAD'S  FORD. 


Ola  Quaker  meeting-house  used  i 


/  during  the  battle  of  the  Brandy-tvine,  and  to  -which  Lafayette 
carried  -when  -wounded. 


crossing.  Meantime,  Cornwallis  and  Howe,  with  an 
equally  strong  column,  marched  north,  and  then  swinging 
to  the  east  around  the  forks  of  the  Brandywine,  crossed  at 
the  unguarded  fords.  At  noon  Washington  heard  of 
Cornwallis's  movement,  and  with  quick  instinct  deter 
mined  to  fall  upon  Knyphausen  in  his  front  and  crush 
him.  He  had  indeed  begun  to  cross  the  stream,  when 


288  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

word  came  from  Sullivan  that  he  had  been  assured  by 
Major  Spear,  who  had  been  on  the  other  side  of  the  riv 
er,  that  Cornwallis  was  not  advancing,  as  reported.  This 
blundering  message  made  Washington  draw  back  his  men 
and  relinquish  his  attack  on  Knyphausen,  and  meantime 
the  battle  was  lost.  Sullivan,  indeed,  could  hardly  have 
sent  off  his  fatal  misinformation  before  the  British  were 
upon  him.  He  made  a  brave  stand,  but  he  was  outnum 
bered  and  outflanked,  and  his  division  was  routed.  Wash 
ington  hearing  firing,  made  rapidly  toward  the  right  wing, 
where,  meeting  the  fugitives,  he  ordered  Greene  forward, 
who  with  great  quickness  brought  up  his  division  and  sup 
ported  the  broken  right  wing,  so  that  they  were  able  to 
withdraw  to  a  narrow  defile,  where  they  made  good  their 
ground  until  nightfall.  At  Chad's  Ford,  Wayne  held 
Knyphausen  in  check  until  assured  of  the  disaster  to  the 
right  wing,  and  then  drew  off  in  good  order  and  joined 
the  main  army  at  Chester.  The  battle  had  been  lost 
through  obvious  faults  on  the  American  side,  although 
Washington's  dispositions  were  excellent.  If  he  had 
crossed  when  he  started  to  do  so,  and  fallen  upon  Knyp 
hausen  with  a  superior  force  at  that  point,  he  would  have 
won  his  fight,  even  if  Sullivan  had  been  crushed.  Every 
thing  in  fact  was  ruined  by  the  carelessness  which  caused 
Sullivan  to  leave  the  fords  unguarded,  of  which  he  did 
not  know,  but  of  which  he  should  have  known,  and  by 
the  blundering  message  which  prevented  Washington 
from  attacking  Knyphausen.  Nevertheless,  it  is  a  griev 
ous  error  in  war  to  be  misinformed,  and  it  shows  that  the 
scouting  was  poor  and  the  General  badly  served  by  his 
outposts.  These  grave  faults  came,  of  course,  from  the 
rawness  of  the  army  and  the  lack  of  proper  organization, 


FABIUS 


289 


yet  it  must  be  admitted  that  even  in  an  army  recently 
levied,  such  misinformation  as  Sullivan  sent  to  Washing 
ton  seems  unpardonable. 
Still,  despite  the  defeat, 
it  is  easy  to  perceive  a 
decided  improvement 
since  the  defeat  at  Long 
Island  for,  although  Sul 
livan's  men  showed  some 
unsteadiness,  the  army  as 
a  whole  behaved  well. 
The  American  loss  was 
over  a  thousand,  the  Brit 
ish  five  hundred  and  sev 
enty-nine,  but  there  was 
no  panic,  and  no  rout. 
Washington  had  his  army 
well  in  hand  that  night, 
marched  the  next  morn 
ing  from  Chester  to  Ger- 
mantown,  then  recrossed 
the  Schuylkill  at  Swedes' 
Fort  and  moving  in  a  westerly  direction  along  the  old  Lan 
caster  road  on  September  i6th  faced  Howe  near  West 
Chester,  ready  to  fight  again.  Skirmishing,  in  fact,  had  act 
ually  begun,  when  a  violent  storm  came  up  and  so  wet  the 
ammunition  on  both  sides  that  the  firing  ceased,  and  Wash 
ington  was  compelled  to  withdraw  for  fresh  supplies.  He 
left  Wayne  behind,  who  got  in  the  rear  of  the  British  ad 
vancing  along  the  west  bank  of  the  river  and  who  wrote 
Washington  that  a  terrible  mistake  had  been  made  in  re- 
crossincr  the  Schuylkill,  as  a  fatal  blow  might  have  been 


BARON  KNYPHAUSEN,  COMMANDER  Ot 
THE  HESSIANS  IN  THE  WAR  BETWEEN 
ENGLAND  AND  THE  UNITED  STATES. 


29o          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

struck  if  he  had  only  remained.  Wayne  sent  this  opinion 
off,  supposing  that  the  British  were  ignorant  of  his  own 
position.  Unfortunately  they  were  not,  and  on  the  night 
of  the  2Oth,  General  Grey  surprised  him  in  his  camp  at 
Paoli,  where  the  Americans  lost  one  hundred  and  fifty 
men.  By  courage  and  presence  of  mind,  Wayne  escaped 
with  his  cannon  and  the  rest  of  his  men,  but  with  his 
division  much  broken  by  the  shock.  Coming  on  top  of 
the  defeat  at  the  Brandywine,  and  due  to  overconfidence 
and  also  again  to  lack  of  proper  information,  this  unfort 
unate  affair  was  not  inspiriting  to  the  general  tone  of  the 
army. 

Howe,  on  his  side,  after  disposing  of  W^ayne,  made  a 
feint  which  caused  Washington  to  march  up  the  river  to 
protect  his  stores  at  Reading,  and  then  turning,  went 
straight  on  to  Philadelphia.  He  reached  Germantown  on 
the  25th,  and  the  next  morning  Cornwallis  marched  into 
Philadelphia  with  3,000  men  and  took  possession  of  the 
town.  Congress,  or  whatever  was  left  of  it,  had  fled 
some  days  before  to  Lancaster,  but  the  townspeople  re 
mained.  Some  received  the  King's  soldiers  with  loud 
acclaim,  most  of  them  looked  on  in  sullen  silence,  while 
the  British  on  their  side  behaved  perfectly  well  and  mo 
lested  nobody.  Thus  Howe  smoothly  and  triumphantly 
had  achieved  his  purpose.  He  sent  word  to  his  brother  in 
command  of  the  fleet  that  the  city  was  won,  started  in- 
trenchments,  and  prepared  to  remove  the  obstructions  and 
forts  by  which  the  Americans  still  held  the  river.  All  in 
deed  had  gone  very  well.  The  rebels  had  been  beaten, 
some  of  their  detachments  surprised,  and  their  capital 
taken.  Howe  thought  the  business  was  about  over,  and, 
if  he  had  been  capable  of  the  mental  effort,  may  have 


FABIUS  291 

been  considering  a  quick  march  to  the  north  after  his  con 
quest  of  the  Middle  States  and  a  victorious  junction  with 
Burgoyne.  While  he  was  making  his  preparations  to 
clear  the  river,  he  kept  his  main  army  in  Germantown 
quietly  and  comfortably,  and  there  on  the  early  morning 
of  October  4th  he  suddenly  heard  firing,  and  riding  out, 
met  his  light  infantry  running.  He  expressed  his  surprise 
at  their  conduct,  and  then  rode  back  to  his  main  line,  for 
he  found  a  general  action  had  begun.  It  seemed  that  the 
beaten  rebels  did  not  understand  that  they  were  beaten, 
but  were  upon  him  again,  a  piece  of  audacity  for  which  he 
was  not  prepared.  Washington  in  fact  had  not  only  held 
his  army  together  after  defeat,  but  had  maintained  it  in 
such  good  trim  and  spirits  that,  although  inferior  in  num 
bers,  he  was  able  to  assume  the  aggressive  and  boldly 
engage  his  enemy  lying  in  nearly  full  force  at  German- 
town.  It  was  a  well-planned  attack  and  came  within  an 
ace  of  complete  success. 

Sullivan,  supported  by  Washington  with  the  reserves, 
was  to  make  the  main  attack  in  front.  The  Pennsylvania 
and  Ne\v  Jersey  militia  were  to  distract  the  enemy's  atten 
tion  by  demonstrations  on  the  flanks,  while  Greene,  taking 
a  wide  sweep  with  a  large  force,  was  to  come  up  from  the 
Limekiln  road  and  strike  the  right  wing  of  the  British, 
forcing  them  back  toward  the  river.  Sullivan  waited  two 
hours  to  give  Greene  time  to  arrive,  and  then  advanced. 
At  first  all  went  well  ;  the  morning  was  misty  and  the 
British  were  surprised.  The  Americans  drove  the  enemy 
rapidly  and  in  confusion  before  them,  and  were  pressing  on 
to  the  centre  of  the  town  when  some  companies  of  Eng 
lish  soldiers  opened  fire  from  the  Chew  house,  a  large 
stone  building,  upon  the  reserves,  who  were  following 


292 


THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


Sullivan.  Very  unwisely  they  stopped  and  tried  to  take 
the  house,  and  then  endeavored  to  burn  it.  Both  attempts 
not  only  failed  but  wasted  time  and  lost  men.  They 
should  have  pushed  on,  leaving  a  small  body  to  watch  the 
house,  instead  of  slackening  as  they  did  the  momentum  of 


THE   CHEIV  HOUSE,    GERMANTOIVN. 


the  first  rush.  Even  this  unlucky  delay,  however,  would 
not  have  been  fatal  if  the  attack  from  the  east,  which  was 
the  key  of  Washington's  plan,  had  succeeded.  Greene, 
however,  was  half  an  hour  late,  and  then  struck  the  enemy 
sooner  than  he  expected,  and  had  his  line  broken.  He 
nevertheless  reformed,  kept  on,  and  drove  the  British  back, 
but  reinforcements  coming  up,  he  was  forced  to  retreat. 
Worse  than  this,  one  of  his  divisions  going  astray  in  the 


(1 


FABIUS  295 

fog,  came  up  to  the  Chew  house  and  opened  fire.  There 
upon  Wayne  supposing  the  enemy  was  in  his  rear  drew 
off,  uncovering  Sullivan's  flank,  and  thus  forced  the  lat 
ter  to  retreat  also.  The  British  pursued,  but  were  finally 
stopped  by  Wayne's  battery  at  Whitemarsh.  The  Ameri 
can  attack  had  failed  and  the  army  had  been  repulsed. 
The  causes  of  the  defeat  were  the  difficulties  inseparable 
from  a  plan  requiring  several  detached  movements,  the 
confusion  caused  by  the  thick  mist,  and  the  consequent 
unsteadiness  of  the  new  troops.  The  fighting  was  sharp, 
and  the  Americans  lost  673  in  killed  and  wounded,  be 
sides  400  made  prisoners,  while  the  British  lost  in  killed 
and  wounded  only  521.  Nevertheless,  although  repulsed, 
Washington  had  not  fought  in  vain.  He  had  shown  his 
ability  to  assume  the  offensive  immediately  after  a  defeat, 
and  this  not  only  had  a  good  effect  at  home,  but  weighed 
very  greatly  with  Vergennes,  who  saw  the  meaning  of  a 
battle  under  such  circumstances  more  clearly  than  those 
actually  on  the  scene  of  action. 

Moreover,  Washington  had  brought  off  his  army  again 
in  good  spirits,  with  courage  and  confidence  restored,  and 
still  held  the  field  so  strongly  that  Howe,  despite  his  vic 
tories,  found  himself  practically  besieged,  with  provisions 
running  short.  He  could  not  move  by  land,  and  it  there 
fore  became  a  matter  of  life  and  death  to  open  the  Del 
aware  River  so  that  the  fleet  could  come  up  to  his  relief. 
Accordingly,  on  October  igth,  he  withdrew  from  Ger- 
mantown  to  Philadelphia,  forced  to  do  so  by  Washing 
ton's  operations  despite  the  repulse  of  the  Americans,  and 
turned  his  whole  attention  to  the  destruction  of  the  de 
fences  of  the  Delaware.  These  defences  consisted  of  two 
unfinished  works  :  Fort  Mifm'n  on  an  island  in  the  Schuyl- 


296          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

kill,  and  Fort  Mercer  at  Red  Bank  in  New  Jersey.  Be 
tween  these  points  the  channel  was  blocked  and  the  block 
ade  defended  by  a  flotilla  of  small  boats  commanded  by 
Commodore  Hazlewood  and  by  some  larger  vessels  built  for 
Congress.  The  British  fleet  forced  the  obstructions  below 
and  came  nearly  up  to  Fort  Mifflin  on  October  2ist.  The 
next  day  Count  Donop  with  2,500  Hessians  attacked  Fort 
Mercer,  held  by  Colonel  Greene  with  600  men.  Their  first 
assault  was  repulsed  with  heavy  loss.  The  British  forces 
were  to  have  been  supported  by  the  fleet,  but  Hazlewood 
beat  off  the  vessels  sent  against  him,  and  drawing  in  near 
shore,  opened  on  the  flank  of  the  Hessians.  Donop  ral 
lied  his  men  and  led  them  again  and  again  to  the  attack, 
but  they  were  met  by  such  a  murderous  fire  that  they  gave 
way,  and  Donop  himself  was  mortally  wounded  and  made 
a  prisoner.  The  Hessians  lost  over  four  hundred  men, 
the  Americans  thirty-five.  Two  British  vessels  also  went 
aground,  were  attacked  by  the  Americans,  set  on  fire  and 
blown  up.  The  defence  was  admirably  conducted,  and 
the  whole  affair  was  one  of  the  best  fought  actions  of 
the  war. 

This  attempt  to  carry  the  American  redoubts  by  a 
simple  rush  had  thus  not  only  failed  but  had  resulted  in 
heavy  slaughter.  Even  Howe  saw  that  he  must  take 
more  deliberate  measures  to  attain  his  end.  He  accord 
ingly  erected  batteries  on  the  Pennsylvania  shore,  which 
reached  Fort  Mifrlin  with  most  serious  effect.  Men-of- 
war  at  the  same  time  came  up  and  opened  fire  on  the 
other  side.  For  five  clays  the  three  hundred  men  held 
out,  and  then,  most  of  their  officers  being  killed  or 
wounded,  their  ammunition  nearly  exhausted,  their  guns 
dismounted,  they  abandoned  the  heap  of  ruins  which  they 


THE   REPULSE  OF   THE   HESSIANS    UNDER    COUNT  DON  OP  AT  FORT  MERCER. 

Donof>   rallied  his   men    and  led  them    again    and  again  to   the  attack,   but    they  were    met   by   sitch   a    murderous  Jirc 
that  they  gave  -way,  and  Donop  ivas  mortally  -wounded. 


FABIUS  299 

had  defended  so  well,  and  on  the  night  of  November  I5th 
crossed  over  to  Red  Bank.  This  fort,  now  isolated,  was 
menaced  in  the  rear  by  Cornwallis,  and  before  General 
Greene  could  reach  it  with  relief,  the  garrison  were  ob 
liged  to  retreat  and  leave  its  empty  walls  to  be  destroyed. 
The  defence  of  these  two  posts  had  been  altogether  admi 
rable,  and  had  served  an  important  purpose  in  occupying 
the  British  General,  besides  costing  him,  all  told,  some  six 
hundred  men  and  two  vessels. 

Nevertheless,  Howe  was  at  last  in  possession  of  Phila 
delphia,  the  object  of  his  campaign,  and  with  his  com 
munications  by  water  open.  He  had  consumed  four 
months  in  this  business  since  he  left  New  York,  three 
months  since  he  landed  near  the  Elk  River.  His  prize, 
now  that  he  had  got  it,  was  worth  less  than  nothing  in  a 
military  point  of  view,  and  he  had  been  made  to  pay  a 
high  price  for  it,  not  merely  in  men,  but  in  precious  time, 
for  while  he  was  struggling  sluggishly  for  Philadelphia, 
Burgoyne,  who  really  meant  something  very  serious,  had 
gone  to  wreck  and  sunk  out  of  sight  in  the  northern  for 
ests.  Indeed,  Howe  did  not  even  hold  his  dearly  bought 
town  in  peace,  for  after  the  fall  of  the  forts,  Greene,  aided 
by  Lafayette,  who  had  joined  the  army  on  its  way  to  the 
Brandywine,  made  a  sharp  dash  and  broke  up  an  outly 
ing  party  of  Hessians.  Such  things  were  intolerable,  they 
interfered  with  personal  comfort,  and  they  emanated  from 
the  American  army  which  Washington  had  now  estab 
lished  in  strong  lines  at  Whitemarsh.  So  Howe  an 
nounced  that  in  order  to  have  a  quiet  winter,  he  would 
drive  Washington  beyond  the  mountains.  Howe  did  not 
often  display  military  intelligence,  but  that  he  was  pro 
foundly  right  in  this  particular  intention  must  be  admitted. 


3°° 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


In  pursuit  of  his  plan,  therefore,  he  marched  out  of  Phila^ 
delphia  on   December  4th,  drove   off  some   Pennsylvania 

militia  on  the  5th,  considered 
the  American  position  for 
four  days,  did  not  dare  to  at 
tack,  could  not  draw  his  op 
ponent  out,  returned  to  the 
city,  and  left  Washington  to 
go  into  winter  quarters  at 
Valley  Forge,  whence  he 
could  easily  strike  if  any 
move  was  made  by  the  Brit 
ish  army. 

Not  the  least  difficult  of 
Washington's  achievements 
was  this  same  refusal  to 
come  down  and  fight  Howe 
at  Whitemarsh.  He  had 
been  anxious  to  do  so  some 
time  before,  for  it  was  part 
of  his  nature  to  fight  hard  and  at  every  opportunity. 
Yet  when  Howe  marched  against  him  at  this  juncture  he 
refused,  and  the  strength  of  his  position  was  such  that  the 
British  felt  it  would  be  certain  defeat  to  attack.  The 
country,  with  its  head  turning  from  the  victory  over  Bur- 
goyne,  was  clamoring  for  another  battle.  Comparisons 
were  made  between  Washington  and  Gates,  grotesque 
as  such  an  idea  seems  now,  much  to  the  former's  disad 
vantage,  and  the  defeats  of  Brandywine  and  Germantown 
were  contrasted  bitterly  with  the  northern  victories.  Mur 
murs  could  be  heard  in  the  Congress,  which  had  been 
forced  to  fly  from  their  comfortable  quarters  by  the  arrival 


LAFAYETTE. 

From  a  portrait  painted  by  C.  If.  Peale,  in  /;, 
for  Washington.  Noiu  owned  by  General  G.  W.  C  L 
Lexington,  I/a. 


FABIUS 


301 


of  the  victorious  enemy  in  Philadelphia.  John  Adams, 
one  of  the  ablest  and  most  patriotic  of  men,  but  with  a 
distinct  capacity  for  honest  envy,  discoursed  excitedly 
about  Washington's  failures  and  Gates's  successes.  He 
knew  nothing  of  military  affairs,  but  as  Sydney  Smith  said 
of  Lord  John  Russell,  he  would  have  been  ready  to  take 
command  of  the  Channel  Fleet  on  a  day's  notice,  and  so 


•T' 


THE    OLD    POTTS    HOUS; 


VALLEY  FORGE    USED   BY    IV. 
HE  A  D-QUAR  TERS. 


he  decided  and  announced,  in  his  impetuous  way,  the  great 
ness  of  Gates,  whose  sole  merit  was  that  he  was  not  able 
to  prevent  Burgoyne's  defeat,  growled  at  the  General-in- 
Chief,  who  had  saved  the  Revolution,  and  sneered  at  him 
as  a  "  Fabius." 

Washington  knew  all  these  things.  He  heard  the 
clamors  from  the  country,  and  they  fell  in  with  his  own 
instincts  and  desires.  He  was  quite  aware  of  the  com- 


302  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

parisons  with  Gates  and  of  the  murmurings  and  criticism 
in  Congress.  Yet  he  went  his  way  unmoved.  He  weak 
ened  himself  to  help  the  northern  army,  for  he  understood, 
as  no  one  else  then  did,  the  crucial  character  of  Burgoyne's 
expedition.  When  the  news  of  the  surrender  at  Saratoga 
came  to  him,  his  one  word  was  devout  gratitude  for  the 
victory  he  had  expected.  But  no  comparisons,  no  sneers, 
no  rivalry  could  make  him  move  from  the  lines  at  White- 
marsh.  If  Howe  would  attack  him  where  victory  was 
certain,  well  and  good,  but  on  the  edge  of  winter  he  would 
take  no  risk  of  defeat.  He  must  hold  the  army  together 
and  keep  it  where  it  could  check  every  movement  of  the 
enemy.  The  conquerors  of  Burgoyne  might  disperse  to 
their  homes,  but  the  Continental  Army  must  always  be 
ready  and  in  the  field,  for  when  it  ceased  to  be  so,  the 
American  Revolution  was  at  an  end.  Hence  the  strong 
lines  at  Whitemarsh,  as  memorable  in  Washington's  ca 
reer  as  the  lines  of  Torres  Vedras  in  that  of  Wellington. 
Hence  the  refusal  to  fight  except  on  a  certainty,  a  great 
refusal,  as  hard  to  give  as  anything  Washington  ever  did. 
Hence,  finally,  the  failure  of  Howe  to  drive  his  enemy 
"  beyond  the  mountains,"  and  his  retirement  to  Philadel 
phia  to  sleep  away  the  winter  while  the  American  Revolu 
tion  waited  by  his  side,  ready  to  strike  the  moment  he 
waked  and  stirred. 

Washington  had  thus  saved  his  army  from  the  peril  of 
defeat  without  lowering  their  spirit  by  retreating.  He 
had  stood  ready  to  fight  on  his  own  terms,  and  had  seen 
his  opponent  withdraw,  baffled,  to  the  city,  whence  it  was 
reasonably  certain  he  would  not  come  forth  again  until  a 
pleasanter  season.  So  much  was  accomplished,  but  a  still 
worse  task  remained.  He  had,  it  is  true,  his  army  in  good 


FABIUS 


303 


spirit  and  fair  numbers,  but  he  had  to  keep  it  through  a 
hard  winter,  where  it  would  hold  Howe  in  check,  and  to 
maintain  its  life  and  strength  without  resources  or  equip 
ment  and  with  an  inefficient  and  carping  Congress  for  his 
only  support. 

Valley   Forge  was  the   place  selected   for  the  winter 
camp.     From  a  military  stand-point  it  was  excellent,  being 


tjtfU    •)  I     ";, , 


VIEW   FROM  FORT  HUNTINGTON 

WITH  A    PLAN  OF  THE   INTRENCHMENTS  REMAIN 
ING  AT   VALLEY  FORGE. 

The  •view  is  from  Fort  Huntington  looking-  toward  Fort  Washington,  which  lies  at  the  end  of  the  -whit 
road  in  the  cut  between  the  hills.  The  line  of  the  main  intrenchments  is  marked  by  the  trees  on  the  summit 
of  the  hill.  The  plan  is  made  to  correspond  with  the  view  regardless  of  the  points  of  the  compass,  north  being* 
at  the' bottom  of  the  plan. 

both  central  and  easily  defended.  Critics  at  the  time 
found  fault  with  it  because  it  was  a  wilderness  with 
wooded  hills  darkening  the  valley  on  either  side.  The 
military  purpose,  however,  was  the  one  to  be  first  consid 
ered,  and  it  may  be  doubted  if  the  army  would  have  found 
any  better  quarters  elsewhere,  unless  they  had  cooped 
themselves  up  in  some  town  where  they  would  have  been 
either  too  distant  for  prompt  action  or  an  easy  mark  for 


304  THE  STORY  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

attack.  But,  whether  due  to  military  expediency  or  not, 
the  story  of  Valley  Forge  is  an  epic  of  slow  suffering 
silently  borne,  of  patient  heroism,  and  of  a  very  bright  and 
triumphant  outcome,  when  the  gray  days,  the  long  nights, 
and  the  biting  frost  fled  together.  The  middle  of  Decem 
ber  in  the  North  American  woods  ;  no  shelter,  no  provi- 


do  acknowledge  the  UNITED  S/TATES  of  AME 
RICA  to  be  Free,  Independent  and  Sovereign  States,  and 
declare  that  the  people  thereof  owe  no  allegiance  or  obe 
dience  to  George  the  Third,  King  of  Great-Britain  ;  and  I 
renounce,  refufe  and  abjure  any  allegiance  or  obedience  to 
him  ;  and  I  do  <7^k/-c  A/>—  •  that  I  will,  to  the  ut- 

moft  of  my  power,  fupport,  maintain  and  defend  the  faid 
United  States  againft  the  faid  King  George  the  Third,  his 
heirs  and  fucceflbrs,  and  his  or  their  abettors,  afliftants  and 
adherents^and  will  ierve  the  faid  United  States  in  the  office  of 
*sfaiJftr*~  (?4s»jLsyroJL>  which  I  now  hold,  -with 

fidelity,  yfccordipg  to  the  beft  of  my  flcill  and  underftanding. 


THE    OATH    OF  ALLEGIANCE    TO    THE    UNITED    STATES,    SIGNED    BY   BENE 
DICT  ARNOLD  AT   VALLEY  FORGE,  1778. 

sions,  no  preparations  ;  such  were  the  conditions  of  Val 
ley  Forge  when  the  American  army  first  came  there. 
Two  weeks  of  hard  work,  and  huts  were  built  and  ar 
ranged  in  streets  ;  this  heavy  labor  being  done  on  a  diet  of 
flour  mixed  with  water  and  baked  in  cakes,  with  scarcely 
any  meat  or  bread.  At  night  the  men  huddled  around  the 
fires  to  keep  from  freezing.  Few  blankets,  few  coverings, 


FABIUS 


305 


many  soldiers  without  shoes,  "wading  naked  in  Decem 
ber's  snows" — such  were  the  attributes  of  Valley  Forge. 
By  the  new  year  the  huts  were 
done,  the  streets  laid  out,  and 
the  army  housed,  with  some 
three  thousand  men  unfit  for 
duty,  frostbitten,  sick,  and 
hungry.  They  had  shelter,  but 
that  was  about  all.  The  coun 
try  had  been  swept  so  bare  by 
the  passage  of  contending  ar 
mies  that  even  straw  to  lie 
upon  was  hard  to  get,  and  the 
cold,  uncovered  ground  often 
had  to  serve  for  a  sleeping- 
place.  Provisions  were  scarce, 
and  hunger  was  added  to  the 
pain  of  cold.  Sometimes  the 
soldiers  went  for  days  without 
meat — sometimes  without  any  food,  Lafayette  tells  us,  mar 
velling  at  the  endurance  and  courage  of  the  men.  There  is 
often  famine  in  the  camp,  writes  Hamilton,  a  man  not 
given  to  exaggeration.  "  Famine,"  a  gaunt,  ugly  fact, 
with  a  savage  reality  to  those  who  met  it,  and  looked  it 
in  the  eyes,  although  little  understood  by  excellent  gentle 
men  in  Congress  and  elsewhere.  Then  the  horses  had 
died  in  great  numbers,  and  in  consequence  transportation 
was  difficult,  enhancing  the  labor  of  hauling  firewood. 
Cold,  hunger,  nakedness,  unending  toil ;  it  is  a  singular 
proof  of  the  devotion  and  patriotism  of  the  American  sol 
dier  that  he  bore  all  these  sufferings  and  came  through 
them  loyally  and  victoriously.  We  are  told  that,  tried 


OLD   BELL     USED    IN    THE    CAMP 
AT   VALLEY  FORGE. 


306  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

sometimes  almost  beyond  the  power  of  endurance,  the 
men  were  more  than  once  on  the  verge  of  mutiny  and 
general  desertion.  But  neither  desertion  nor  mutiny 
came,  and  if  contemplated,  they  were  prevented  by  the 
influence  of  the  officers,  and  most  of  all  by  that  of  the 
chief  officer,  whose  patient  courage,  warm  sympathy,  and 
indomitable  spirit  inspired  all  the  army. 

And  what  was  the  Government,  what  was  Congress 
doing,  while  against  a  suffering  much  worse  than  many 
battles  their  army  was  thus  upholding  the  cause  of  the 
Revolution  ?  They  were  carping  and  fault-finding,  and 
while  leaders  like  Samuel  and  John  Adams  and  Richard 
Henry  Lee  criticised,  lesser  men  rebelled  and  plotted 
against  the  Commander-in-Chief.  Mr.  Clark,  of  New 
Jersey,  thought  Washington  threatened  popular  rights  be 
cause  he  was  obliged  to  take  strong  measures  to  feed  his 
army,  and  because  he  insisted  that  the  people  in  the  Mid 
dle  States  should  take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  United 
States,  after  tampering  with  the  British  amnesty,  so  that 
by  this  proper  test  he  might  know  friend  from  foe.  Mr. 
Clark  forgot  that  with  a  Congress  which  Gouverneur 
Morris  said  had  depreciated  as  much  as  the  currency,  it 
was  necessary  for  the  most  constitutional  Fabius  to  be  dic 
tator  as  well  as  "  Cunctator."  Then  James  Lovell  and 
others  thought  it  would  be  well  to  supplant  Washington 
with  the  alleged  conqueror  of  Burgoyne,  and  Gates,  slow 
and  ineffective  in  battle,  but  sufficiently  active  in  looking 
after  his  own  advancement,  thought  so  too,  and  willingly 
lent  himself  to  their  schemes. 

This  party  in  Congress  found  some  allies  in  the  army. 
One  of  the  evils  which  Washington  had  to  meet,  and  in 
regard  to  which  he  was  obliged  to  oppose  Congress  and  to 


WINTER  AT   VALLEY  FORGE. 
The  relief. 


FABIUS  309 

do  some  pretty  plain  speaking,  related  to  the  foreign  vol 
unteers.  Some  of  them  were  men  like  Lafayette,  brave, 
loyal,  capable,  and  full  of  a  generous  enthusiasm,  or  like 
De  Kalb  and  Pulaski,  good  active  soldiers,  or  like  Steu- 
ben,  officers  of  the  highest  training  and  capacity.  To  such 
men  Washington  gave  not  only  encouragement,  but  his 
confidence  and  affection.  Most  of  those,  however,  who 
flocked  to  America  were  what  Washington  bluntly  called 
them,  "  hungry  adventurers,"  soldiers  out  of  work,  who 
came  not  from  love  of  the  cause,-but  for  what  they  could 
get  in  personal  profit  from  the  war.  Deane  had  already 
been  lavish  with  commissions  to  these  people,  and  Con 
gress,  in  the  true  colonial  spirit,  proceeded  to  shower 
rank  upon  them  merely  because  they  were  foreigners, 
without  regard  either  to  merit  or  to  the  effect  of  their 
action.  Already  there  had  been  serious  trouble  from  the 
manner  in  which  Congress  had  appointed  and  promoted 
native  officers  without  reference  to  the  wishes  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  or  to  the  military  situation,  which  they 
comprehended  very  imperfectly.  But  their  policy  in 
regard  to  foreigners  was  much  worse,  and  meant  the 
utter  demoralization  both  of  organization  and  discipline. 
Washington,  who  was  not  colonial  in  the  slightest  degree, 
simply  because  he  was  too  great  a  man  to  be  so,  and  who 
judged  foreigners  as  he  did  all  men,  solely  upon  their  mer 
its,  at  once  saw  the  mischief  of  the  Congressional  practice, 
interposed,  checked,  and  stopped  it.  As  a  consequence, 
much  hostility  arose  among  the  "  hungry  adventurers  "  and 
their  friends  and  admirers ;  so  they  all  joined  together  in 
their  envy  of  the  General,  and  began  to  weave  a  plot 
against  him.  The  leader  of  the  movement  was  an  Irish 
adventurer  named  Conway,  who  is  remembered  in  history 


310  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

solely  by  this  intrigue  against  Washington.  He  desired 
to  be  made  a  major-general  at  once.  Washington  ob 
jected  on  grounds  both  general  and  particular,  and  said 
that  "  Conway's  merit  and  importance  existed  more  in  his 
own  imagination  than  in  reality."  Conway  was  rendered 
furious  by  this  plain-spoken  opposition,  and  set  himself  to 
work  to  secure  both  revenge  and  the  gratification  of  his 
own  ambition.  He  turned  to  Gates  as  a  leader,  and  one 
of  his  letters  in  which  he  spoke  of  a  "weak  general  and 
bad  counsellors "  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief.  This  was  absolute  insubordination,  and 
Washington  wrote  a  curt  note  to  Conway,  who  tried  to 
apologize  and  then  resigned,  and  also  communicated  with 
Gates,  who  passed  several  months  in  trying  to  twist  out  of 
his  uncomfortable  position  while  Washington  held  him 
relentlessly  to  the  point.  This  exposure  only  added  fuel 
to  Conway's  anger,  and  the  intrigue  to  get  control  of 
military  affairs  went  on.  The  Conway  party  was  strong 
in  Congress,  where  they  succeeded  in  having  the  Board  of 
War  enlarged,  with  Gates  at  the  head  of  it,  and  Thomas 
Mifrlin,  another  opponent  of  Washington,  a  member. 
This  Board  appointed  Conway  Inspector-General  with  the 
rank  of  Major-General,  a  direct  blow  at  Washington,  and 
Gates  set  himself  to  hampering  the  movements  of  the 
Commander-in-Chief  by  refusing  men,  and  offering  to  him 
petty  slights  and  affronts.  They  hoped  in  this  way  to 
drive  Washington  to  resign,  but  they  little  knew  their 
man.  He  had  entered  on  the  great  struggle  to  win,  and 
neither  reverses  in  the  field  nor  intrigues  in  Congress  could 
swerve  him  from  his  course.  He  stood  his  ground  with 
out  yielding  a  jot,  he  pursued  Gates  about  the  letter 
from  Conway  which  had  exposed  the  purposes  of  their 


FABIUS  311 

faction,  and  kept  him  writhing  and  turning  all  winter. 
He  also  received  Conway  with  utter  coldness  and  indiffer 
ence  when  he  visited  the  camp,  which  was  very  galling  to 
a  gentleman  who  considered  himself  not  only  important 
but  dangerous.  The  plotters  in  short  could  make  no  im 
pression  upon  Washington,  and  even  while  they  plotted 
against  him,  their  schemes  went  to  pieces,  for  they  were 
not  strong  enough  in  ability  or  character  to  be  really  for 
midable.  They  failed  in  their  plan  for  an  invasion  of 
Canada,  and,  what  was  far  worse,  they  broke  down  utterly 
in  the  commissariat  ;  so  that,  although  they  could  neither 
frighten  nor  move  Washington,  they  succeeded  in  starving 
his  soldiers  and  adding  to  their  sufferings,  something 
which  he  felt  far  more  keenly  than  any  attacks  upon  him 
self.  The  failures  of  the  cabal,  however,  could  not  be  con 
cealed  but  soon  became  apparent  to  all  men,  even  to  a 
committee  of  Congress  when  they  visited  Valley  Forge. 
Such  confidence  as  had  ever  been  given  to  the  new  Board 
of  War  vanished,  the  members  fell  to  quarrelling  among 
themselves  and  telling  tales  on  each  other,  and  the  in 
triguers  and  their  party  went  to  pieces.  As  spring  drew 
near,  the  end  of  the  "  Conway  cabal  "  came.  Wilkinson 
resigned  the  secretaryship  of  the  Board,  Mifflin  was  put 
under  Washington's  orders,  Gates  was  sent  to  his  com 
mand  in  the  north,  and  Conway,  resigning  in  a  pet,  found 
his  resignation  suddenly  accepted.  He  then  fought  a  duel 
with  General  Cadwalader,  a  friend  of  the  Commander-in- 
Chief,  was  badly  wounded,  wrote  a  contrite  note  to  Wash 
ington,  recovered  and  left  the  country.  The  cabal  was 
over  and  its  author  gone.  Washington  had  withstood  the 
attack  of  envy  and  intrigue,  and  triumphed  completely 
without  the  slightest  loss  of  dignity.  It  must  have  been  a 


312 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


trying  and  harsh  experience,  and  yet  there  were  other 
things  happening  at  that  very  time  which  he  felt  far  more. 

He  looked  upon 
his  suffering  men  and 
knew  that  at  that 
moment,  in  Philadel 
phia,  the  enemy  were 
warmly  housed  and 
amply  fed,  amusing 
themselves  with  balls, 
dances,  and  theatrical 
performances.  The 
bitter  contrast 
touched  him  to  the 
quick.  Yet  even  then 
the  Legislature  of 
Pennsylvania  thought 

J  O 

that  he  did  too  much 
for  his  army  by  hut 
ting  them  in  Valley 
Forge,  and  that  they 
should  keep  the  open 
field,  live  in  tents,  and 
THE  DESIGN  try  to  attack  the  ene 
my.  This  thoughtful 

criticism  was  too  much  even  for  Washington's  iron  self- 
control.  He  wrote  a  very  plain  letter,  setting  forth  bluntly 
the  shortcomings  of  the  Pennsylvanians  in  supporting  the 
army  with  troops  and  supplies,  and  then  added : 

"  I  can  assure  those  gentlemen  that  it  is  a  much  easier 

o 

and  less  distressing  thing  to  draw  remonstrances  in  a  com 
fortable  room  by  a  good  fireside,  than  to  occupy  a  cold, 


HOUSE  IN  ARCH  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA, 
WHERE  BETSY  ROSS  MADE  THE  FIRST 
AMERICAN  FLAG  FROM 
ADOPTED  BY  CONGRESS. 


FABIUS  313 

bleak  hill,  and  sleep  under  frost  and  snow,  without  clothes 
or  blankets.  However,  although  they  seem  to  have  little 
feeling  for  the  naked  and  distressed  soldiers,  I  feel  super 
abundantly  for  them,  and  from  my  soul  I  pity  their  miser 
ies,  which  it  is  neither  in  my  power  to  relieve  nor  pre 
vent." 

So  we  get  the  picture.  There  are  the  British,  snug, 
comfortable,  and  entertaining  themselves  in  Philadelphia. 
There  are  the  members  of  Congress  and  foreign  advent 
urers  intriguing  and  caballing  for  military  control,  with 
Pennsylvania  legislators  in  the  background  growling  be 
cause  the  army  is  not  camping  out  in  the  open  and  march 
ing  up  and  down  in  the  wintry  fields.  All  around  there 
are  much  criticism  and  grumbling  and  wounding  compari 
sons  with  the  exploits  of  the  northern  army.  And  there, 
out  in  Valley  Forge  and  along  the  bleak  hillsides,  is  the 
American  Continental  army.  All  that  there  is  existent 
and  militant  of  the  American  Revolution  is  there,  too, 
just  as  it  was  during  the  previous  winter.  In  the  midst  is 
a  great  man  who  knows  the  grim  facts,  who  understands 
just  what  is  meant  by  himself  and  the  men  who  follow 
him,  and  whose  purpose,  the  one  thing  just  then  worth 
doing  in  the  world,  is  to  keep,  as  he  says,  "  life  and  soul " 
in  his  army.  He  is  a  man  to  whom  courage  and  loyalty 
appeal  very  strongly,  and  it  wrings  his  heart  to  watch  his 
brave  and  loyal  men  suffer ;  yes,  wrings  his  heart  in  a  way 
that  well-meaning  gentlemen  in  Congress  and  legislative 
assemblies,  self-seeking  adventurers  and  petty  rivals  can 
not  understand.  It  makes  his  resentment  against  injus 
tice  stronger,  and  his  determination  to  win  sterner  and 
more  unyielding  even  than  before. 

We  see  in  imagination,  but  Washington  saw  face  to 


3  H  THE    STORY    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 

face,  his  soldiers  huddling  around  the  fires  at  night  while 
the  huts  were  building.  He  saw  them  hungry,  half- 
dressed,  frost-bitten,  hatless,  shoeless,  struggling  to  get  a 
shelter.  Then  the  huts  were  built,  and  still  he  was  striv 
ing  to  get  them  clothes  and  food  and  blankets,  as  well 
as  medicine  for  the  3,000  sick.  He  levied  on  the  country  ; 
he  did  not  stop  for  trifles ;  he  meant  that,  come  what 
might,  he  would  keep  his  men  alive,  and  in  some  fashion 
they  lived.  With  March,  Greene  became  Quartermaster- 
General,  and  then  the  clothing  and  the  food  came,  too. 
The  weather  began  to  soften  and  the  days  to  lengthen. 
The  worst  had  been  passed,  and  yet,  through  all  that  dark 
ness  and  cold,  more  had  been  done  than  keep  "life  and 
soul "  in  the  troops,  marvellous  as  that  feat  was.  In  their 
huts  on  the  bleak  hillsides,  upon  the  trampled  snow  of  the 
camp-streets,  Washington  had  not  only  held  his  men 
together,  but  he  had  finally  made  his  army.  Excellent 
fighting  material  he  had  always  had,  and  he  had  been 
forming  it  fast  under  the  strain  of  marches,  retreats,  and 
battles.  But  still  it  lacked  the  organization  and  drill 
which  were  possessed  by  the  enemy.  These  last  Washing 
ton  gave  it  under  all  the  miseries  and  sufferings  of  Valley 
Forge.  Good  fortune  had  brought  him  a  man  fit  for  this 
work  above  almost  any  other  in  the  person  of  Baron  Steu- 
ben,  a  Prussian  soldier,  a  distinguished  officer  of  the  Seven 
Years'  War,  trained  in  the  school  of  Frederick,  the  most 
brilliant  commander  of  the  time.  A  man  who  had  fol 
lowed  the  great  King  when  he  had  faced  all  Europe  in 
arms  against  him,  knew  what  fighting  was  and  what  disci 
pline  could  do.  All  he  needed  was  good  material,  and  that 
he  found  at  Valley  Forge.  So  Washington  brought  his 
army  out  of  this  awful  winter  not  only  with  "  life  and 


FABIUS 


315 


soul  "  in  them,  but  better  equipped,  thanks  to  Greene  and 
the  French  loans,  than  ever  before,  increasing  in  numbers, 
owing  to  the  new  levies 
which  came  in,  and  drilled 
and  organized  in  the  fash 
ion  of  the  King  of  Prussia. 
Early  in  May  came  the  news 
of  the  French  alliance,  which 
was  celebrated  in  the  Ameri 
can  camp  with  salvoes  of  can 
non  and  musketry,  and  with 
the  cheers  of  the  troops  for 
the  King  of  France  and  for 
the  United  States  of  Amer 
ica.  This  event,  so  anxiously 
awaited,  cheered  and  en 
couraged  everyone,  and  with 
his  army  thus  inspirited,  disciplined,  and  strengthened, 
Washington  took  the  field  and  assumed  the  offensive. 

Meantime  the  British  lingered  in  Philadelphia.  As 
Franklin  truly  said,  Philadelphia  took  them,  not  they  the 
city  ;  but  this  fact,  clear  at  the  outset  to  Franklin  and 
Washington,  was  not  obvious  to  c-thers  for  some  time. 
At  last  glimmerings  of  the  truth  penetrated  the  mists 
which  overhung  the  British  Ministry.  They  vaguely  per 
ceived  that  Howe  had  consumed  a  great  deal  of  time  and 
lost  a  great  many  men,  while  all  that  he  had  to  show  for 
these  expenditures  were  comfortable  winter  quarters  in 
Philadelphia,  where  he  did  nothing,  and  where  Washington 
watched  him  and  held  him  cooped  up  by  land.  So  the 
Ministry  decided  to  recall  Howe  and  give  the  command 
to  Clinton,  an  entirely  unimportant  change,  so  far  as  the 


BARON  STEUBEX. 

'.in ted  by  C.  W.  Peale,  in  1780. 


316          THE  STORY  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

merits  of  the  two  men  were  concerned.  It  seemed,  how 
ever,  a  very  serious  matter  to  the  British  in  Philadelphia, 
and  a  pageant  called  the  Mischianza  was  held  in  Howe's 
honor  on  May  i8th.  There  was  a  procession  of  boats 
and  galleys  on  the  river,  moving  to  the  music  of  hautboys, 
between  the  lines  of  the  men-of-war  dressed  in  bunting, 
and  firing  salutes.  Then  followed  a  regatta,  and  after 
that  a  mock  tournament,  where  "  Knights  of  the  Burning 
Mountain  "  and  of  the  u  Blended  Rose  "  contended  for 
the  favor  of  a  Queen  of  Beauty.  In  the  evening  there 
were  fireworks,  a  ball,  and  a  gaming-table  with  a  bank  of 
two  thousand  guineas  ;  all  in  honor  of  the  General,  whom 
the  tickets  described  as  the  setting  sun,  destined  to  rise 
again  in  greater  splendor.  Stimulated  by  this  pasteboard 
radiance  and  blaze  of  millinery,  Howe  waited  for  a  last 
touch  of  glory,  which  was  to  come  by  surprising  Lafay 
ette,  whom  Washington  had  sent  forward  to  observe  the 
enemy  at  Barren  Hill.  The  attempt  was  well  planned, 
but  the  young  Frenchman  was  alert  and  quick,  and  he 
slipped  through  his  enemy's  fingers  unscathed.  It  being 
now  apparent  that  the  time  for  rising  in  greater  glory  had 
not  quite  arrived,  Howe  shortly  after  took  himself  off,  out 
of  history  and  out  of  America,  where  Clinton  reigned  in 
his  stead. 

The  change  of  commanders  made  no  change  of  habits. 
Clinton  tarried  and  delayed,  as  Howe  had  done  before 
him.  It  was  obvious  that  he  must  get  to  New  York, 
for  he  was  isolated  where  he  was,  and  the  French  alliance 
would  soon  produce  fleets,  as  well  as  fresh  troops.  Yet 
still  he  lingered.  The  Peace  Commission,  with  Lord  Car 
lisle  at  its  head,  was  one  fruitful  cause  of  hesitation  and 
delay,  but  like  every  conciliatory  movement  made  by  Eng- 


FABIUS 


land,  this  also  was  too  late. 
The  concessions  which  would 
have  been  hailed  with  rejoic 
ing  at  the  beginning,  and  ac 
cepted  even  after  war  had 
been  begun,  were  now  utter 
ly  meaningless.  Washington 
was  determined  to  have  in 
dependence  ;  he  would  not 
sheath  his  sword  for  less,  and 
he  represented  now  as  ever 
the  sentiment  of  Americans. 
The  only  peace  possible  was 
in  independence.  The  col 
onies  were  lost  to  England, 
and  the  sole  remaining  ques 
tion  was,  how  soon  she  could 
be  forced  to  admit  it.  So 
the  Peace  Commission  broke 
down,  and  not  having  been 
consulted  about  the  evacua 
tion  of  Philadelphia,  and  hav 
ing  failed  conspicuously  and 
rather  mortifyingly  in  their 
undertaking,  retired  in  some 
dudgeon  to  England,  to  add 
their  contribution  to  the  dis 
approval  and  disaffection  fast 
thickening  about  the  King's 
friends  who  composed  the 
Ministry. 

Clinton,    for    his    part, 


3i8  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

gradually  got  ready  to  carry  out  his  orders  and  leave 
Philadelphia.  Having  made  all  his  arrangements,  he 
slipped  away  on  June  i8th,  so  quietly  that  the  disheart 
ened  and  deserted  loyalists  of  Philadelphia  hardly  real 
ized  that  their  protectors  had  gone.  Washington,  how 
ever,  knew  of  it  at  once.  He  had  made  up  his  mind 
that  Clinton  would  try  to  cross  New  Jersey,  and  he  meant 
to  attack,  although  he  was  still  inferior  in  numbers  ;  for 
the  British,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  they  had  been 
weakened  both  by  desertions  during  the  winter  and  by 
losses  in  battle  during  the  previous  autumn,  appear  still  to 
have  had  17,000  men  against  13,000  Americans.  Despite 
this  disparity  of  force,  Washington  had  entire  confidence 
in  the  instrument  which  he  had  been  fashioning  at  Valley 
Forge,  and  he  meant  to  use  it.  General  Lee,  who,  un 
fortunately,  had  been  exchanged  and  was  now  again  in  the 
American  camp,  had  but  one  firm  conviction,  which  was, 
that  the  British  army  was  invincible,  and  that  our  policy 
was  simply  to  keep  out  of  its  way.  He  argued  that  the 
British  would  never  yield  Pennsylvania,  and  that  they 
were  in  fact  intending  to  do  everything  but  what  they 
really  aimed  at,  a  speedy  march  to  New  York.  Washing 
ton  quietly  disregarded  these  opinions,  and  as  soon  as  the 
British  left  Philadelphia,  broke  camp  and  moved  rapidly 
after  them.  At  Hopewell  a  council  of  war  was  held,  and 
Lee  now  urged  building  bridges  of  gold  for  the  enemy 
and  aiding  them  to  get  to  New  York.  A  majority  of  the 
council,  whom  Alexander  Hamilton  scornfully  called  "  old 
midwives,"  still  under  the  spell  of  an  "  English  officer," 
sustained  Lee.  But  Washington  had  passed  beyond  the 
time  when  he  would  yield  to  councils  of  war  which  stood 
in  the  way  of  fighting,  and  supported  by  active  men  like 


:  FABIUS  319 

Greene,  Wayne,  and  Lafayette,  he  firmly  persisted  in  his 
plans.  He  detached  Wayne  and  Poor  with  their  forces 
to  join  Maxwell  and  the  New  Jersey  militia,  who  were  to 
engage  the  enemy,  while  he  brought  up  the  main  army. 
Lee,  entitled  to  the  command  of  this  advanced  division, 
first  refused  to  take  it,  and  then  changed  his  mind  most 
unluckily,  and  displaced  Lafayette,  to  whom  the  duty  had 
been  assigned  when  Lee  declined. 

Meantime,  Clinton,  much  harassed  by  the  New  Jersey 
militia,  and  with  his  men  suffering  from  heat  and  thirst, 
and  dropping  out  of  the  ranks,  was  slowly  making  his  way 
north.  At  Crosswicks,  which  he  reached  just  in  time  to 
save  the  bridge,  he  found  Washington  on  his  flank.  To 
escape,  he  had  to  take  a  quicker  route  ;  so  sending  ahead 
his  baggage-train,  which  was  from  eight  to  twelve  miles 
long,  he  swung  toward  Freehold,  making  for  the  Never- 
sink  Hills  and  the  coast.  On  the  26th  he  encamped  at 
Monmouth  Court-House,  while  his  left  was  still  at  Free 
hold.  The  American  army  was  now  only  eight  miles 
distant,  and  the  advance  under  Lee  but  five  miles  away. 
Washington  sent  orders  to  Lee  to  attack  the  next  day,  as 
soon  as  the  British  resumed  their  march  ;  but  Lee  made 
no  plan,  and  the  next  morning  did  nothing  until  the  mili 
tia  actually  opened  fire  on  Knyphausen's  rear-guard,  who 
turned  to  meet  them.  As  the  militia  retired  they  met 
Lee,  who  engaged  the  enemy  and  then  began  to  fall  back 
and  move  his  troops  about  here  and  there  with  the  intel 
ligent  idea  of  cutting  off  isolated  parties  of  the  enemy, 
an  unusual  way  of  beginning  a  general  action.  His  men 
were  ready  and  eager  to  fight ;  but  they  became  confused 
by  Lee's  performances,  lost  heart,  and  finally  began  to 
retreat,  while  Clinton,  seeing  his  advantage,  pushed  for- 


320  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ward  reinforcements.  Washington,  hearing  that  Dicken- 
son  and  his  New  Jersey  militia  were  engaged,  sent  word 
to  Lee  to  attack  and  that  he  would  support  him.  He  was 
pressing  on  with  the  main  army,  the  men  throwing  away 
their  knapsacks  and  hurrying  forward  through  the  intense 
heat,  \vhen  word  came  to  him  that  Lee  was  retreating. 
He  would  not  believe  it.  He  could  not  conceive  that 
any  officer  should  retreat  as  soon  as  the  enemy  advanced, 
and  when  he  knew  that  the  main  army  was  hastening  for 
ward  to  his  support.  Filled  with  surprise  and  anger,  he 
set  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  to  the  front.  First  he 
met  stragglers,  then  more  and  more  flying  men,  then  the 
division  in  full  retreat.  At  last  he  saw  Lee,  and  riding 
straight  at  him,  asked,  with  a  fierce  oath,  as  tradition  says, 
what  he  meant  by  retreating.  Self-control  was  gone,  and 
just  wrath  broke  out  in  a  storm.  The  dangerous  fight 
ing  temper,  so  firmly  kept  in  hand,  was  loose.  Lee,  im 
pudent  and  clever  as  he  was,  quailed  and  stammered. 
The  question  was  repeated.  There  was  and  could  be  no 
answer.  Lee  went  to  the  rear,  to  a  court-martial,  and  to 
private  life,  sinking  out  of  history,  not  without  a  strong 
suspicion  of  treason  clinging  to  him,  to  join  Con  way  and 
the  rest  of  the  unenviable  company  of  adventurers  who 
wanted  to  free  America  by  obtaining  high  rank  for  them 
selves  and  admiring  the  enemy. 

This  particular  scene  was  soon  over  and  the  real  work 
then  began.  The  master  had  come  at  last.  Like  Sheridan 
at  Cedar  Creek,  the  retreating  men  rallied  and  followed 
the  Commander-in-Chief.  The  broken  division  was  re 
formed  in  a  strong  position,  the  main  army  was  brought 
up,  the  British  were  repulsed,  and  Washington,  resuming 
the  offensive  drove  the  enemy  before  him  and  occupied 


FABIUS  323 

the  battle-ground  of  the  morning.  Then  night  fell,  and 
under  cover  of  darkness  Clinton  retreated  as  fast  as  he 
could,  dropping  men  as  he  went,  and  finally  reaching  his 
fleet  and  New  York  before  the  Americans  could  again 
come  up  with  him. 

Contrast  this  fight  with  Long  Island,  and  it  can  be 
seen  how  an  American  army  had  been  made  in  the  inter 
val.  Thrown  into  disorder  and  weakened  by  the  timid 
blundering  of  their  General,  the  advance  division  had  been 
entirely  rallied,  the  main  army  had  come  up,  the  battle 
had  been  saved,  and  a  victory  won.  Had  it  not  been  for 
Lee,  it  would  have  been  a  much  more  decisive  victory, 
and  Clinton's  army  would  have  been  practically  destroyed. 
As  it  was,  he  lost  some  500  men  at  Monmouth  to  the  229 
of  the  Americans.  Along  his  whole  retreat  he  lost  nearly 
2,000.  "  Clinton  gained  no  advantage,"  said  the  great 
soldier  at  Sans  Souci  watching  events,  "  except  to  reach 
New  York  with  the  wreck  of  his  army." 

Washington  was  victor  at  Monmouth,  and  had  lost 
Brandywine  and  Germantown,  but  he  had  won  the  cam 
paign.  The  British  had  been  driven  from  the  Middle 
States  as  they  had  been  expelled  from  New  England,  for 
they  held  nothing  now  but  the  port  of  New  York,  which 
was  actually  covered  by  the  guns  of  their  fleet.  They  had 
tried  to  reach  Philadelphia  from  the  north,  and  had  been 
baffled  and  forced  back  by  Trenton  and  Princeton.  They 
had  approached  and  occupied  it  from  the  south,  but  it  \vas 
worthless  and  a  source  of  weakness  unless  they  could 
establish  a  line  to  New  York  which  would  enable  them 
to  control  both  cities  and  the  intervening  country.  This 
Washington  had  prevented  by  holding  Howe  fast  in  Phila 
delphia  and  checking  any  movement  by  land.  When 


324  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

spring  came  it  was  evident  that  to  attempt  to  hold  both 
cities,  isolated  as  they  were,  required  two  armies,  and  under 
existing  conditions  was  a  source  of  weakness  which  threat 
ened  a  great  disaster.  Clinton  had  no  choice  but  to  re 
treat  ;  he  lost  a  battle  and  2,000  men  in  doing  so,  and 
reached  New  York  with  a  beaten  and  broken  army.  New 
York  he  continued  to  hold,  Newport  he  held  for  a  time, 
and  that  was  all.  There  were  some  affairs  of  outposts, 
some  raids  here  and  there,  some  abortive  invasions,  but 
the  Middle  States  had  gone  as  New  England  had  gone 
from  the  British,  swept  clear  by  Washington's  campaigns. 

As  the  evacuation  of  Boston  closed  the  British  cam 
paign  for  the  control  of  New  England,  so  the  battle  of 
Monmouth  ended  all  effective  military  operations  to  re 
cover  English  supremacy  in  the  Middle  States.  The  vic 
tory  at  Monmouth  also  marks  the  beginning  of  the  best 
work  of  the  American  army,  finally  made  such  by  hard 
fighting  and  by  the  discipline  and  drill  of  Valley  Forge. 
Never  again  did  the  Continental  Army  under  Washington 
suffer  defeat.  From  the  victory  at  Monmouth,  the  last 
general  engagement  in  the  north,  to  the  surrender  of  York- 
town,  the  army  of  Washington  endured  much,  but  they 
were  never  beaten  in  action  when  he  led  them.  This  was 
the  result  of  two  years  of  victory  and  defeat,  of  Trenton, 
and  of  Germantown,  of  steady  fighting  and  patient  effort. 
But,  above  all,  it  was  the  outcome  of  two  bitter  winters 
and  of  Valley  Forge,  when  the  man  sneered  at  in  those 
days  as  "Fabius"not  only  kept  "  life  and  soul"  in  his 
army,  but  in  the  American  Revolution,  which  that  army 
represented  when  it  faced  alone  the  power  of  England. 


CHAPTER   XIII  ' 

HOW    THE    WEST    WAS    SAVED 

AFTER  the  Battle  of  Monmouth  the  war  in  the 
Northern  Department  dragged  on  through  the 
summer  without  any  general  campaign,  and  with 
out  any  results  which  affected  the  final  outcome,  except 
that  thus  far  time  was  always  on  the  side  of  the  Ameri 
cans,  and  the  failure  of  the  British  to  advance  was  equiva 
lent  to  defeat.  On  July  8,  1778,  the  French  fleet,  under 
D'Estaing,  appeared  off  New  York,  but  they  were  unable 
to  get  their  large  ships-of-the-line  through  the  Narrows, 
and  could  not  attack  the  British  squadron.  D'Estaing 
then  desired  to  sail  away  and  conquer  Newfoundland, 
which  would  have  been  a  wholly  barren  undertaking,  but 
Washington  persuaded  him  to  go  to  Newport  and  join  in 
a  combined  naval  and  land  attack  upon  the  British,  who 
held  that  place  with  6,000  men.  For  this  purpose  Wash 
ington  called  out  the  militia  of  Massachusetts  and  Rhode 
Island,  and  sent  a  brigade  from  his  own  small  army,  to 
gether  with  Greene  and  Lafayette,  to  the  aid  of  Sullivan, 
who  commanded  in  that  district,  but  everything  went 
wrong  from  the  start.  The  French  arrived  on  August  8th, 
were  kept  outside  by  Sullivan  for  ten  days,  and  then  ran 

325 


326          THE    STORY    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 

in  past  the  batteries  and  forced  the  British  to  destroy  their 
men-of-war  and  galleys  in  the  harbor. 

Meantime  Sullivan,  without  notice  to  D'Estaing, 
crossed  over  to  the  island  of  Newport,  and  had  hardly  done 
so  when  Howe  appeared  outside  with  his  squadron. 
D'Estaing  put  to  sea  to  fight  him,  but  both  fleets  were 
scattered  and  severely  damaged  by  a  heavy  storm.  Howe 
was  forced  to  put  back  to  New  York,  while  D'Estaing 
returned  to  Newport,  only  to  announce  that  he  must  go 
to  Boston  to  refit.  The  Americans  were  disheartened  and 
disgusted.  The  combined  attack  had  broken  down,  and 
the  militia  began  to  leave  for  their  homes.  The  storm, 
moreover,  had  wrecked  their  camp  and  largely  ruined 
their  ammunition,  so  that  they  presently  found  themselves 
with  only  6,000  men,  cooped  up  on  an  island  with  an  enemy 
whose  forces  were  already  superior,  and  would  soon  be  great 
ly  increased  by  the  arrival  of  Clinton  with  reinforcements 
4,000  strong.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  withdraw  to 
the  mainland,  and  the  retreat  had  begun  when  the  British 
attacked.  Greene,  instead  of  defending,  changed  the  re 
treat  to  an  advance,  charged  the  British  and  drove  them 
back  to  their  works.  The  American  loss  was  two  hun 
dred  and  eleven,  the  British  two  hundred  and  sixty.  It 
was  a  well-fought  action  under  adverse  circumstances, 
but  it  led  to  nothing,  for  the  expedition  had  failed,  and 
bore  fruit  only  in  recriminations  between  the  Americans 
and  their  allies,  which  it  took  time  and  effort  to  allay. 
Clinton,  arriving  as  usual  too  late,  returned  to  New  York, 
having  done  nothing  but  burn  the  shipping  at  New  Bed 
ford,  and  rob  the  farmers  of  Martha's  Vineyard  of  some 
cattle  and  money.  A  year  later  he  withdrew  the  remain- 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  327 

ing  troops  from  Newport.  The  British  occupation  had 
been  pointless  and  fruitless,  and  had  led  to  nothing  but 
the  abortive  naval  attack  of  the  French  and  the  retreat 
of  the  Americans. 

The  affair  at  Newport  was,  however,  typical  of  the 
sporadic  fighting  of  the  summer,  differing  only  from  the 
rest  in  the  presence  of  the  French  and  English  fleets, 
and  in  the  considerable  number  of  men  engaged.  The 
British  did  nothing  effective.  They  could  hold  no  ex 
tensive  country,  nor  could  they  control  any  important 
military  line  which  would  divide  and  hamper  the  States. 
A  foray  into  New  Jersey  in  September  and  the  defeat  of 
some  surprised  militia,  the  burning  of  shipping  at  Little 
Egg  Harbor  and  the  wasting  of  the  neighboring  country 
by  Captain  Ferguson  in  October,  an  Indian  raid  into 
Cherry  Valley  in  November,  which  failed  to  take  the 
fort,  but  burned  houses  and  scalped  some  thirty  persons, 
mostly  women  and  children,  completed  the  sum  of  Clin 
ton's  military  achievements  during  his  first  summer  of 
command.  When  winter  came  he  was  again  settled  in 
New  York,  the  only  place  he  held,  except  Newport, 
while  Washington  cantoned  his  men  so  as  to  form  a  line 
of  defence  from  Long  Island  Sound  to  West  Point  and 
thence  south  to  the  Delaware.  His  head-quarters  were 
at  Middlebrook,  but  he  held  Clinton  fast,  and  permitted 
him  to  have  nothing  but  the  ground  upon  which  his  men 
camped  and  which  the  guns  of  the  English  fleet  covered. 

It  is  easy  to  see  now  how  completely  the  military  situa 
tion  in  the  North  was  making  in  favor  of  the  Americans  ; 
that  all  that  region  had  been  wrested  from  England  and 
could  never  be  regained  by  her.  The  English  had  been 


328  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

campaigning  in  the  Middle  and  New  England  States  for 
three  years,  and  they  had  lost,  or  failed  to  retain,  every 
thing  except  New  York,  where  they  had  landed,  and  the 
outlying  Newport.  In  other  words,  they  could  hold  a 
town  under  the  guns  of  their  fleet,  the  Americans  having 
no  organized  navy,  and  that  was  the  extent  of  their 
power.  This,  of  itself,  showed  that  they  were  utterly  de 
feated  in  the  attempt  to  conquer,  and  could  not  hold 
America  by  force  of  arms  ;  but  the  real  state  of  the  case, 
which  is  so  obvious  now,  was  not  so  plain  then.  The  fact 
which  most  impressed  those  who  were  fighting  America's 
battles  in  1778  was  that  there  was  practically  no  general 
government.  The  Revolution  had  been  carried  forward  by 
Washington  and  his  army,  who  were  permanent  active 
forces,  and  by  vigorous,  although  sporadic,  uprisings  of 
the  armed  people  when  invasion  actually  threatened  their 
homes.  But  of  effective  government  and  executive  power, 
outside  the  army  and  the  diplomatic  representatives,  there 
was  practically  none.  Their  own  enforced  flight  from 
Philadelphia,  the  condition  of  the  army,  and  Washington's 
vigorous  letters,  had  made  Congress  feel  that  perhaps  all 
the  reasons  for  defeat  were  not  to  be  found  in  the  short 
comings  of  their  General.  They  therefore  turned  to  the 
long-standing  business  of  forming  a  better  union,  and, 
after  much  labor,  produced  the  Articles  of  Confederation. 
Beyond  the  fact  that  such  action  showed  a  dim  awakening 
to  the  dire  need  of  efficient  national  government  and 
better  union,  this  instrument  was  quite  useless.  The  sep 
aratist,  States -rights  theory  prevailed  so  far  in  the  con 
struction  of  the  Confederation,  that  the  general  govern 
ment  had  no  real  power  at  all,  and  could  only  sink,  as  it 
afterward  did,  into  imbecile  decrepitude.  Moreover,  this 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  329 

feeble  scheme,  which  had  no  value,  except  in  teaching 
people  what  to  avoid,  could  not  go  into  effect  until  rati 
fied  by  each  State,  and  this  process  took  so  long  that  the 
war  was  nearly  over  before  the  poor  Confederation  got 
enough  life  in  it  to  begin  dying. 

The  efforts  for  better  government  thus  came  to  but 
small  results,  and  Congress  stumbled  along  as  best  it 
could,  trying  to  borrow  money  abroad,  and  getting  little 
except  in  France  ;  trying  to  persuade  the  States  to  give,  a 
very  uncertain  resource,  and  finally  falling  back  on  emis 
sions  of  more  paper  money,  fast-sinking  and  worthless. 
Without  executive  power,  with  no  money,  with  constant 
and  usually  harmful  meddling  in  military  matters,  with 
no  authority  to  raise  soldiers,  the  Congress  of  the  United 
States  presented  a  depressing  spectacle.  It  would  have 
forboded  ruin  and  defeat  had  it  not  been  for  the  fact  that 
each  State  had  an  efficient  Government  of  its  own,  which 
prevented  anarchy,  while  the  people,  accustomed  to  self- 
government,  managed  to  carry  the  war  along  in  some 
fashion — haltingly  and  expensively,  no  doubt,  but  still 
always  stubbornly  forward. 

In  the  field  of  diplomacy,  the  Congress  showed  to 
great  advantage,  as  it  had  from  the  outset.  Some  of  the 
ablest  men  had  been  sent  abroad,  and  had  proved  them 
selves  the  equals  of  the  diplomatists  of  Europe.  Every 
where  on  the  Continent,  at  every  Court  they  visited,  the 
American  envoys  made  a  good  impression  and  secured,  at 
least,  good-will.  The  great  triumph  was  the  French  alli 
ance,  and  although  elsewhere  the  tangible  results  at  first 
seemed  less  than  nothing,  the  good-will  then  obtained  and 
the  favorable  impression  made  were  before  long  to  bear 
fruit  in  loans  which  carried  on  the  war,  and  in  the  assured 


330  THE    STORY    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 

neutrality  of  the  Northern  powers.  In  any  event,  the 
Americans  had  at  least  succeeded  in  alienating  Europe 
from  England,  which  at  that  time  seemed  to  enjoy  her 
"  splendid  isolation  "  less  than  she  has  professed  to  do  in 
more  recent  days.  One  European  power,  however,  showed 
itself  distinctly  hostile,  and  that  was  the  very  one  upon 
which  the  Vergennes  relied  for  support,  and  which  was 
finally  drawn  into  war  against  England.  This  was  Spain, 
which  manifested  an  instinctive  hatred  of  a  people  in  arms 
fighting  for  their  rights  and  independence.  To  Spain, 
decrepit  and  corrupt,  the  land  of  the  Inquisition,  and  the 
owner  of  a  vast  and  grossly  misgoverned  colonial  em 
pire,  nothing  but  enmity  was  really  possible  toward  re 
volted  colonists  fighting  for  independence,  free  alike  in 
thought  and  religion  and  determined  to  govern  them 
selves.  Spanish  statesmen  hung  back  from  the  invita 
tions  of  Vergennes,  and  gave  the  cold  shoulder  to  Arthur 
Lee  when  he  went  to  Burgos.  They  hated  England,  un 
doubtedly,  and  were  more  than  ready  to  injure  her  and  to 
profit  at  her  expense,  but  they  had  no  love  or  good  wishes 
for  her  rebellious  colonies.  Florida  Blanca,  the  prime  min 
ister,  held  off  from  the  French,  tried  to  bargain  with  the 
English,  and  aimed  at  nothing  but  Spanish  advantage  in 
North  America.  When  France,  heedless  of  his  wishes, 
formed  the  American  alliance,  he  was  filled  with  profound 
disgust,  all  the  deeper  because  his  hand  had  thus  been  forced. 
He  drove  a  hard  bargain  with  France  in  the  treaty  which 
pledged  Spain  to  join  in  the  war  against  England,  refused 
to  recognize  the  independence  of  America,  and  was  left 
free  to  exact  from  the  Americans,  if  he  could,  as  the  price 
of  Spain's  support,  the  control  of  the  Mississippi  Valley, 
of  the  Great  Lakes,  and  of  all  the  vast  region  between  the 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  331 

great  river  and  the  Alleghanies.  The  policy  of  Spain 
aimed,  in  fact,  at  the  possession  of  the  North  American 
Continent,  and  the  whole  future  of  the  United  States  was 
staked  on  the  issue.  Yet  even  while  Spanish  statesmen 
wrangled  with  Vergennes,  and  schemed  and  intrigued  for 
Spanish  dominion  on  the  Mississippi,  the  question  was  be 
ing  settled  far  out  among  the  forests  by  a  few  determined 
backwoodsmen,  with  rifles  in  their  hands,  no  knowledge 
of  diplomacy,  and  a  perfectly  clear  idea  of  what  they  want 
ed  to  do  and  meant  to  have. 

The  early  intrigues  with  the  Southern  tribes,  and  the 
war-parties  of  Indians  who  came  with  Burgoyne  and  de 
serted  him  when  the  tide  turned  against  him,  formed  but 
a  small  part  of  the  English  efforts  in  this  direction.  The 
British  policy  was  a  far-reaching  one,  and  was  designed  to 
unite  all  the  tribes  of  wild  Indians  against  the  Americans, 
harry  the  borders  with  savage  warfare,  and  prevent  the 
Western  expansion  of  the  United  States.  It  was  not  ex 
actly  a  humane  or  pleasing  policy,  but  it  was  much  in 
favor  with  the  Ministry,  although  it  led  to  some  sharp  crit 
icisms  in  Parliament,  especially  when  the  item  of  scalping- 
knives  came  up  in  a  supply-bill.  None  the  less,  it  was  a 
scheme  fraught  with  possibilities,  and,  properly  handled, 
might  have  caused  lasting  injury  to  the  United  States,  not 
by  Burgoyne's  war-parties,  which  did  more  harm  than 
good  to  their  employers,  but  by  destroying  the  settlements 
beyond  the  mountains  and  checking  for  a  time  the  West 
ern  movement  of  the  American  people. 

So  far  as  uniting  the  Northwestern  and  Western  tribes 
went,  the  English  were  singularly  successful,  and  secured 
their  active  alliance  and  co-operation.  The  Lieutenant- 
Go  vernor  of  the  Northwest,  whose  head-quarters  were  at 


332          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Detroit,  was  Henry  Hamilton,  and  to  him  the  department 
of  Indian  warfare  against  the  colonies  was  entrusted.  The 
task  could  not  have  been  committed  to  more  capable  hands, 
so  far  as  organizing  the  Indians  and  sending  them  out  on 
the  war-path  was  concerned.  Where  he  failed  was  in  the 
largeness  of  conception  which  was  needed  to  tell  him  the 
vital  point  at  which  to  strike.  In  1776  he  had  his  alliances 
secure,  and  for  the  next  two  years  he  turned  the  savages 
loose  upon  the  settlers  of  the  American  border.  It  was  a 
cruel,  ferocious  war,  as  all  Indian  wars  are,  marked  by  am 
bush,  murder,  fire,  pillage,  and  massacre.  It  fell  not  on 
armies  and  soldiers,  but  on  pioneer  farmers,  backwoods 
men,  and  hunters,  with  their  wives  and  families.  To  the 
prisoners  who  were  brought  in,  Hamilton  was  said  to  have 
been  entirely  humane  ;  but  the  Indians  were  rewarded  for 
their  burnings  and  pillagings,  and  for  the  slaughter  of  Am 
erican  settlers.  They  earned  their  wages  by  evidences  of 
their  deeds,  and  the  proofs  furnished  were  human  scalps, 
which  were  bought  and  paid  for  in  Detroit.  It  is  of  no 
consequence  who  paid  for  these  hideous  trophies  ;  it  was 
done  at  an  English  town  and  fort,  with  English  money, 
and  the  frontiersmen  who  nicknamed  Hamilton  the  "  Hair- 
buyer"  reached  the  essential  truth. 

This  method  of  warfare  was  cruel  in  the  extreme  and 
caused  untold  anguish  and  suffering,  but  it  had  no  effect  up 
on  the  fortunes  of  the  Revolution  at  the  point  where  Hamil 
ton  made  the  greatest  exertion.  In  carrying  out  his  orders  to 
push  back  the  American  frontier,  he  directed  the  weight  of 
his  attack  against  the  borders  of  New  York,  Pennsylvania, 
and  Virginia.  This  caused  an  incalculable  amount  of  mis 
ery  to  individuals,  but  made  absolutely  no  impression  upon 
the  strong,  populous,  and  long-settled  States  against  which 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  3?,3 

the  attack  was  aimed.  Very  different  was  the  case  to  the 
south  of  the  Ohio,  where  bold  hunters  and  adventurers  had 
pushed  beyond  the  mountains,  and,  just  as  the  Revolution 
was  beginning,  had  established  in  the  forests  the  half-dozen 
little  block-houses  and  settlements  which  were  destined  to 
be  the  germ  of  the  future  State  of  Kentucky.  These  out 
posts  of  the  American  advance  across  the  continent  were 
isolated  and  remote,  separated  from  the  old  and  well-estab 
lished  States  of  the  seaboard  by  a  range  of  mountains,  and 
by  many  miles  of  almost  pathless  wilderness.  If  they  had 
been  broken  up,  the  work  would  have  been  to  do  all  over 
again  ;  for  they  were  not  branches  from  the  main  trunk,  like 
the  outlying  settlements  of  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia,  but 
an  independent  and  separate  tree,  transplanted  and  growing 
on  its  own  roots.  If  Hamilton  had  come  down  with  a 
force  of  his  own  and  given  the  Indians  white  leadership, 
he  might  have  systematically  uprooted  and  destroyed  these 
Kentucky  settlements  and  flung  back  the  American  border 
to  the  east  of  the  mountains  ;  but  he  preferred  to  direct 
his  main  forces  elsewhere,  and  left  it  to  the  Indians  alone 
to  deal  with  the  Kentuckians.  He  may  have  thought,  and 
not  without  reason,  that  this  would  be  sufficient  to  destroy 
these  few  and  scattered  settlements,  the  importance  and 
meaning  of  which  he,  no  doubt,  underestimated.  If  he  so 
thought  he  erred  gravely,  for  he  failed  to  reckon  on  the 
quality  and  fibre  of  the  men  who  had  crossed  the  moun 
tains  and  settled  in  the  beautiful  woods  and  glades  of  Ken 
tucky.  The  Indians  did  their  part  zealously  and  faithfully, 
and,  for  two  years  after  Hamilton  had  unchained  them, 
Kentucky  well  deserved  the  name  of  the  "  dark  and  bloody 
ground."  It  was  continuous  fighting  of  the  most  desper 
ate  kind,  band  to  band,  and  man  to  man.  Ambushes,  sur- 


334 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


prises,  hand-to-hand  struggles,  hair-breadth  escapes,  impris 
onment  among  the  savages,  torture,  murder,  and  the  stake 
were  part  of  the  daily  life.  The  block-houses  were  suc 
cessfully  held  with  stubborn 
courage,  the  women  battling 
side  by  side  with  the  men.  It 
was  savage  fighting,  filled  with 
endless  incident,  where  per 
sonal  prowess  played  a  great 
part,  and  with  a  certain  bar 
barous  simplicity  and  utter  in 
difference  to  life  and  deadly 
peril;  which  recall  the  heroes 
of  the  Nibelungenlied,  remote 
kinsmen  of  these  very  men 
who  now  stood  at  death-grips 
with  the  Indians  in  the  depths 
of  the  American  forest. 

This  battle  of  the  Ken 
tucky  pioneers,  under  the  lead  of  Boone,  Logan,  Kenton, 
and  the  rest,  forms  one  of  the  finest  and  most  heroic 
chapters  in  our  history,  too  largely  lost  sight  of  then 
and  since  in  the  greater  events  which,  on  the  Atlantic 
seaboard  and  in  the  cabinets  of  Europe,  were  deciding 
the  fate  of  the  Revolution.  None  the  less  it  was  a  very 
great  and  momentous  fact  that  these  hunters  and  farmers 
held  firm  and  kept  the  distant  wilderness  a  part  of  the 
United  States.  They  rise  up  to  us  from  the  past  as  Ind 
ian-fighters  and  explorers,  hunters,  trappers,  and  advent 
urers,  but  we  must  not  forget  that  they  were  primarily 
and  more  than  anything  else  settlers.  They  had  entered 
into  the  land  to  possess  it,  conquer  it,  and  hand  it  down 


COLONEL    DANIEL    BOONE. 

From  a  portrait  by  Chester  Harding,   oivned  by 
Colonel  R.  T.  Ditrrett,  Louisville,   Ky. 


GENERAL  GEORGE  ROGERS  CLARK. 

From  an  original  miniature  ascribed  to  J.  If.  J  arvis  and  owned  by  Mr.  Jefferson  K  Clark,  of 

St.  Louis>  Mo. 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  33; 

to  their  posterity.  So  they  clung  to  their  forts  and  set 
tlements  with  grim  tenacity  and  much  desperate  fight,  and 
were  satisfied,  as  well  they  might  be,  to  beat  off  invasion 
and  yield  no  inch  of  ground.  But  among  them  was  one 
leader  who  was  not  content  with  this — a  man  with  "  em 
pire  in  his  brain,"  with  an  imagination  that  peered  into 
the  future,  and  a  perception  so  keen  as  to  be  almost  akin 
to  genius.  This  man  was  George  Rogers  Clark.  He  was 
a  young  Virginian,  twenty-five  years  old,  one  of  the  best 
and  most  daring  of  the  leaders  who  were  holding  Ken 
tucky  against  the  Indian  allies  of  Great  Britain.  But 
Clark  was  not  satisfied  with  a  mere  defence  of  the  settle 
ments.  On  the  western  edge  of  the  great  wilderness 
which  lay  between  the  Alleghanies  and  the  Mississippi 
were  the  old,  long-established  French  settlements,  which 
had  passed  to  the  British  crown  with  the  conquest  of  Can 
ada.  Clark's  restless  spirit  and  quick  imagination  be 
came  filled  with  the  idea  that  the  way  to  defend  Kentucky 
was  to  carry  the  war  into  the  Illinois  country  and  attack 
England  there,  instead  of  being  content  to  beat  her  off 
at  home.  In  this  plan  he  saw,  as  he  believed,  the  true 
method  of  breaking  down  the  Anglo-Indian  campaign,  and 
also — which  probably  moved  him  much  more — of  adding 
all  this  vast  region  to  the  territory  of  the  United  States. 
Without  breathing  a  word  of  the  plans  he  was  weaving,  he 
sent  out  two  young  hunters  to  penetrate  into  the  Illinois 
country  and  get  him  information.  His  scouts  went  forth, 
and  reported  on  their  return  that  the  French  sometimes 
joined  the  British  and  Indian  war-parties,  but  that  they 
took  little  interest  in  the  revolutionary  struggle,  and  stood 
much  in  awe  of  the  American  backwoodsmen.  This  en 
couraged  Clark,  for  he  believed  that  under  these  conditions 


338 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


he  could  deal  with  the  French  ;  and  he  forthwith  set  out, 
in  October,  1777,  and  made  the  long  and  toilsome  journey 
back  to  Virginia  to  get  aid  and  support  for  his  expedition. 
When  he  reached  the  capital  he  saw  Patrick  Henry, 
who  was  then  Governor,  and  laid  his  plans  before  him 
with  all  the  eager  enthusiasm  of  youth  and  faith.  Very 
fortunately,  Henry,  too,  was  a  man  of  imagination  and 


ardent  temperament.  He  was  touched  and  convinced  by 
the  young  soldier's  brilliant  and  perilous  conception,  and 
gave  him  his  hearty  sympathy,  which  was  much,  and  all 
the  material  aid  he  could  command  which,  in  the  stress 
and  strain  then  upon  Virginia,  was  very  little.  Clark 
received  from  Henry  public  authority  to  raise  men  to  go 
to  the  relief  of  Kentucky,  secret  instructions  to  invade 
Illinois,  and  a  small  sum  of  money  in  depreciated  cur 
rency.  Thus  meagrely  provided,  everything  depended  on 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  339 

Clark's  own  energy  and  personal  influence.  Very  fort 
unately,  these  were  boundless  ;  and  although  he  encoun 
tered  every  difficulty,  nevertheless,  by  spring  he  had 
raised  a  hundred  and  fifty  men,  and  started  in  flat-boats 
down  the  Ohio,  taking  with  him  some  families  of  settlers. 
On  May  27th  he  reached  the  Falls  of  the  Ohio,  and  there 
established  a  post,  and  left  those  families  who  had  remained 
with  him  to  form  a  settlement,  destined  to  become  the 
city  of  Louisville.  Here  he  heard  of  "  the  French  Alli 
ance,"  which,  he  felt  sure,  would  help  him  in  his  progress  ; 
and  here  some  Kentuckians  joined  him,  under  the  lead  of 
Kenton,  as  well  as  a  company  from  Holston,  most  of 
whom  deserted  when  they  learned  the  distant  and  danger 
ous  purpose  of  the  expedition.  When  every  preparation 
had  been  made,  Clark  carefully  picked  his  men,  taking 
only  those  who  could  stand  the  utmost  fatigue  and  hard 
ship,  and  formed  them  into  four  companies  of  less  than 
fifty  each.  With  the  lightest  possible  equipment,  he 
started  on  June  24th,  and  shot  the  falls  at  the  moment  of 
an  eclipse  of  the  sun,  which  his  followers,  for  the  most  part, 
regarded  as  a  good  omen.  Descending  the  river  safely, 
Clark  landed  nearly  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Tennessee, 
and  there  met  a  party  of  American  hunters,  who  gladly 
joined  him,  and  who  wrere  able  to  inform  him  fully  about 
the  situation  at  Kaskaskia,  the  principal  town,  which  he 
meant  to  attack.  They  said  that  Rocheblave,  the  Com 
mandant,  who  was  devoted  to  the  British  cause,  had  his 
militia  well  drilled,  and  was  looking  out  for  an  attack  ; 
that  the  French  had  been  taught  to  dread  the  Americans, 
and  that  if  warned  of  their  coming  would  undoubtedly 
fight,  but  if  surprised  might  be  panic-stricken.  Clark  im 
mediately  conceived  the  idea  that  if  the  French  were  first 


340  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

thoroughly  frightened  and  then  had  opportunity  to  dis 
cover  that  the  Americans  meant  them  no  harm,  the  revul 
sion  of  feeling  would  swing  them  to  his  side.  To  take 
the  town  by  surprise,  therefore,  became  absolutely  essen 
tial.  With  this  purpose,  he  set  out  at  once,  marched  for 
fifty  miles  through  dense  forests,  then  across  open  prairies, 
where  he  was  nearly  lost,  and  finally,  on  the  evening  of 
July  4th,  reached  the  Kaskaskia  River,  three  miles  from 
the  town.  Capturing  the  people  on  an  outlying  farm,  he 
learned  from  them  that  the  rumors  of  the  coming  of  the 
Americans  had  died  away  recently,  and  that  the  garrison 
of  Kaskaskia  were  off  their  guard.  Still,  Rocheblave, 
although  he  had  been  unable  to  get  aid  from  Detroit,  had 
two  or  three  times  as  many  men  as  Clark,  and,  if  warned  in 
season,  was  sure  to  fight  hard.  But  everything  yielded  to 
the  young  Virginian's  coolness  and  energy.  He  procured 
boats,  ferried  his  men  silently  across  the  river  in  the  dark 
ness,  and  then  marched  swiftly  to  the  to\vn  in  two  divi 
sions,  one  of  which  surrounded  the  town  itself,  while  the 
other  followed  Clark  to  the  fort,  where  he  placed  his  rifle 
men,  and  then,  led  by  one  of  his  prisoners,  slipped  in  him 
self  through  the  postern.  Within  the  great  hall  in  the  main 
building  of  the  fort  lights  were  burning  brightly,  and  the 
sounds  of  music  floated  out  upon  the  summer  night.  In 
side  there  wras  a  ball  in  progress,  and  the  light-hearted, 
pleasure-loving  French  Creoles  were  dancing  and  making 
merry.  To  the  music  and  dancing  of  the  Old  World 
civilization,  the  flare  of  torches  and  the  figure  here  and 
there  of  a  red  man  crouching  or  leaning  against  the  wall 
gave  a  picturesque  touch  of  the  wide  wilderness  in  which 
the  little  town  was  islanded.  On  went  the  dance  and  the 
music.  The  pretty  Creole  girls  and  their  partners  were 


CLARK  ON  THE    WAY  TO  KA  SKA  SKI  A. 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  343 

too  deeply  absorbed  in  the  pleasures  of  the  moment  to 
notice  that  an  uninvited  guest  had  come  quietly  among 
them  and  was  watching  the  dancers.  Suddenly  one  of 
the  Indians  lying  on  the  floor,  with  the  canine  instinct  of 
a  hostile  presence,  looked  up,  gazed  a  moment  at  the 
stranger,  and  then  sprang  to  his  feet  and  gave  the  war- 
whoop.  As  the  wild  cry  rang  through  the  hall  the  startled 
dancers  turned  and  looked,  and  there  they  saw  standing 
by  the  door,  with  folded  arms,  the  grim,  silent  figure  of 
Clark  in  his  fringed  buckskin,  the  American  backwoods 
man,  the  leader  of  the  coming,  conquering  race.  The 
music  ceased,  the  dancing  stopped,  the  women  screamed, 
but  Clark,  unmoved,  bade  them  dance  on,  and  remember 
only  that  they  were  under  the  rule  of  Virginia,  and  not  of 
Great  Britain.  At  the  same  instant  his  men  burst  into 
the  fort  and  seized  all  the  military  officers,  including  the 
Commandant,  Rocheblave. 

The  surprise  was  complete  and  town  and  fort  were  now 
in  the  hands  of  the  Americans.  Clark  ordered  every  street 
secured,  and  commanded  the  people  to  keep  their  houses, 
under  pain  of  death.  He  wished  to  increase  the  panic  of 
terror  to  the  last  point,  and  no  finely  trained  diplomatist 
of  the  Old  World  ever  played  his  cards  with  greater  sub 
tlety.  In  the  morning  a  committee  of  the  chief  men  of 
the  town  waited  on  Clark  to  beg  their  lives,  for  more  they 
dared  not  ask.  Clark  replied  that  he  came  not  to  kill  and 
enslave,  but  to  bring  them  liberty.  All  he  demanded  was 
that  they  should  swear  allegiance  to  the  new  Republic,  of 
which  their  former  King  was  now  the  ally.  The  French, 
caring  little  for  Great  Britain,  were  so  overcome  by  the 
revulsion  from  the  terror  which  had  held  them  through 
the  night  that  they  took  the  oath  with  delight  and  pledged 


344  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

their  loyalty  to  Clark.  Then  the  American  leader  prom 
ised  that  they  should  have  absolute  religious  freedom,  and 
the  priest,  a  most  important  personage,  thus  became  his 
firm  supporter.  In  a  word,  the  whole  population  rallied 
round  Clark,  and  became,  for  the  moment  at  least,  zeal 
ous  Americans.  Rocheblave  alone,  deserted  and  helpless, 


CLARK'S  SURPRISE  AT   KASKASKIA. 
They  saw  standing  by  the  door,  with  folded  arms,  the  grhn,   silent  figure  of  Clark. 

undertook  to  be  mutinous  and  insulting,  and  so  Clark  sent 
him  off  a  prisoner  to  Virginia,  where  he  thoughtfully  broke 
his  parole  and  escaped. 

Despite  the  brilliancy  of  his  victory,  Clark's  difficulties 
were  really  just  beginning.  Cahokia  and  Vincennes  fol 
lowed  the  example  of  Kaskaskia — eagerly  accepted  the  rule 
of  the  United  States  and  raised  the  American  flag — but  he 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  345 

had  no  men  to  garrison  either  place,  and  all  he  could  do 
was  to  send  an  officer  in  each  instance  to  take  command. 
He  had  thus  made  himself  master  of  a  great  country,  and 
had  less  than  two  hundred  absolutely  trustworthy  troops 
with  whom  to  hold  it.  Even  these  men  were  anxious  to 
be  off.  They  had  done  the  work  for  which  they  had  en 
listed,  they  wanted  to  go  home,  and  Clark,  with  difficulty, 
persuaded  a  hundred  to  remain.  Then  he  told  the  French 
that  he,  too,  meant  to  go,  whereupon,  as  he  expected,  they 
implored  him  to  stay,  which  he  consented  to  do  if  they 
would  furnish  him  with  men  to  fill  his  depleted  ranks.  This 
done,  he  turned  his  attention  to  the  much  more  thorny  and 
perilous  problem  of  the  Indians.  He  drew  the  leaders  of 
the  tribes  to  Cahokia,  and,  by  a  mixture  of  audacity  and 
firmness,  backed  by  a  little  actual  violence,  with  much  as 
tute  diplomacy  and  good  temper,  he  broke  the  English  con 
federacy  and  secured  pledges  of  peace.  Through  all  this 
difficult  and  anxious  work  Clark  kept  steadily  drilling  his 
new  Creole  recruits  and  getting  his  little  army  on  the  best 
possible  footing.  He  was  beset  with  perils,  but  his  high 
spirits  never  flagged,  and  he  played  his  parts  of  statesman, 
diplomatist,  and  soldier  with  unwearied  energy  and  ability. 
Meantime  to  Hamilton,  planning  an  expedition  against 
Fort  Pitt,  came  the  amazing  news  that  the  Americans  had 
invaded  Illinois  and  taken  Kaskaskia  and  then  Vincennes. 
These  were  evil  tidings,  indeed,  for  this  was  a  blow  at  the 
very  heart  of  the  whole  British  campaign  in  the  West. 
Hamilton,  who  was  both  determined  and  energetic,  imme 
diately  abandoned  his  expedition  against  Fort  Pitt,  sent 
out  French  couriers  to  recall  the  Western  Indians  to  their 
allegiance  and  rouse  them  again  to  war,  while  he  himself 
rapidly  organized  an  expedition  for  the  relief  of  the  Illinois 


346          THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

towns.  On  October  7th  all  was  ready,  and  Hamilton  left 
Detroit  with  a  strong  force  of  five  hundred  English,  French, 
and  Indians,  well  provided  with  artillery  and  every  muni 
tion  of  war.  After  a  long  and  toilsome  journey  of  seventy- 
one  days,  they  reached  Vincennes  on  December  1 7th.  The 
French  deserted  Helm,  the  American  Commandant,  as 
quickly  as  they  had  abandoned  his  predecessor,  and  went 
over  to  Hamilton,  who  took  possession  of  the  town  and 
the  fort  without  difficulty.  Then  came  the  crucial  moment. 
Hamilton  had  three  times  as  many  men  as  Clark,  was  nearer 
his  base  of  supplies,  and  knew  that  the  Indians  were  re 
turning  to  their  old  alliance.  At  all  hazards,  he  ought  to 
have  gone  to  Kaskaskia  at  once  and  crushed  Clark  then 
and  there,  as  he  could  easily  have  done.  But,  although 
Hamilton  was  a  good  soldier  and  an  extremely  competent 
man,  he  lacked  the  little  touch  of  imagination  or  genius, 
call  it  what  we  will,  which  was  absolutely  needful  at  that 
moment.  He  concluded,  very  reasonably,  that  it  was  the 
dead  of  winter,  that  a  march  through  the  Illinois  wilder 
ness  to  Kaskaskia  was  a  rather  desperate  undertaking,  and 
that  the  affair  could  be  dealt  with  just  as  well  and  with 
much  greater  safety  in  the  spring.  So  he  sent  most  of  his 
men  back  to  Detroit,  to  return  in  the  spring  with  a  power 
ful  force,  a  thousand  strong,  and  sweep  over  the  whole 
country.  He  then  suspended  operations  for  the  winter,  and 
contented  himself  with  holding  Vincennes  with  the  hun 
dred  men  he  kept  with  him.  It  was  all  reasonable,  and 
sensible,  and  proper,  and  yet  it  was  a  fatal  mistake,  for 
opposed  to  him  was  a  man  who  had  just  the  spark  of  ge 
nius  and  imagination  which  he  himself  lacked. 

Clark  heard  of  Hamilton's  arrival  at  Vincennes  with 
feelings  which  we  can  guess,  for  he  knew  how  helpless  he 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  347 

was  in  the  presence  of  such  a  superior  force,  and  he  sup 
posed  that  Hamilton  would  do  at  once  what  he  would  have 
done  in  the  former's  place.  Nevertheless  he  put  on  a  bold 
front.  The  French  began  to  waver,  but  he  held  them  in 
line ;  the  bolder  and  more  adventurous  stood  by  him,  and 
he  made  preparations  for  a  vigorous  defence.  Still  the 
British  did  not  come,  and  on  January  27th  a  French  trader 
came  into  Kaskaskia  and  told  Clark  that  Hamilton  was 
wintering  in  Vincennes  and  had  with  him  less  than  a  hun 
dred  men.  Then  the  difference  between  the  commonplace 
man  and  the  man  of  imagination  flashed  out.  Clark  would 
do  what  Hamilton  should  have  done.  He  would  not  wait 
until  spring  to  be  overwhelmed,  he  would  take  Vincennes 
and  Hamilton  now.  He  first  equipped  a  galley  with  guns, 
and  sent  her  to  patrol  the  Wabash  and  cut  off  British  rein 
forcements.  Then,  on  February  7th,  he  started  with  a 
hundred  and  seventy  men  to  march  two  hundred  and  forty 
miles.  For  the  first  week  all  went  well.  They  marched 
rapidly,  killed  abundance  of  game,  and,  encouraged  by 
Clark,  fed  freely  and  sang  and  danced  about  the  camp-fires 
at  night.  Then  they  came  to  the  branches  of  the  Little 
Wabash,  now  one  great  stream  five  miles  wide,  for  the  cold 
had  broken,  and  the  thaw  had  brought  floods.  Clark  in  some 
way  got  pirogues  built,  and  in  three  days  had  everything 
ferried  over.  This  brought  them  so  near  Vincennes  that 
they  dared  not  fire,  and  so  could  not  get  game.  They 
struggled  on  through  the  flooded  country,  could  not  find  a 
ford,  and  camped  by  the  Wabash  on  the  2oth,  having  had 
no  food  for  two  days.  The  Creoles  began  to  lose  heart 
and  talked  of  returning,  but  Clark  laughed,  told  them  to 
go  out  and  kill  deer,  and  kept  steadily  on.  The  next  day 
he  got  them  ferried  over  the  Wabash  and  on  the  same  side 


34§  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

with  Vincennes.  They  could  hear  the  morning  and  even 
ing  guns  from  the  fort,  so  near  were  they,  and  yet  the  worst 
was  still  to  come.  All  day  they  struggled  along,  wading 
over  the  flooded  land,  and  when  they  came  to  a  place  where 
the  canoes  could  find  no  ford  the  line  halted,  and  it  looked 
as  if  ruin  had  come.  But  Clark  raised  the  war-whoop, 
plunged  in,  and,  ordering  them  to  start  their  favorite  songs, 
led  them  through,  for  no  one  could  resist  his  leadership. 
They  camped,  wet,  shivering,  and  hungry,  on  a  hillock  six 
miles  from  the  town.  The  night  was  very  cold,  and  ice 
formed  over  the  surrounding  water  ;  but  the  sun  rose 
clear,  and  Clark,  making  a  passionate  speech,  told  them 
victory  was  before  them,  and  plunged  into  the  water.  His 
men  followed,  in  Indian  file,  with  twenty-five  told  off  at 
the  end  to  shoot  any  who  tried  to  turn  back.  On  they  went 
across  the  Horse  Shoe  Plain,  four  miles  of  wading  in  wa 
ter,  sometimes  breast  high.  The  strong  helped  the  weak, 
Clark  urging  and  appealing  to  them  in  every  way.  It 
was  a  desperate,  almost  a  mad  undertaking  but  they  kept 
on  through  the  cold  water  and  the  floating  ice,  and  got 
through.  In  the  afternoon  they  crossed  a  lake  in  their 
canoes,  and  were  then  within  two  miles  of  the  town.  The 
prey  was  in  sight,  so  the  men  looked  to  their  rifles,  dried 
their  ammunition,  and  made  ready  for  the  fight. 

From  a  prisoner  captured  while  hunting,  Clark  learned 
that  there  were  two  hundred  Indians  just  come  to  town, 
and  this  gave  Hamilton  a  great  superiority  in  numbers. 
Clark  had  it  in  his  power  to  surprise  Vincennes  com 
pletely,  as  he  had  Kaskaskia,  and  trust  to  that  advantage 
to  overcome  the  odds  against  him.  He  reasoned,  however, 
that  if  he  sprang  upon  the  town  both  French  and  Indians 
would  fight,  because  they  would  be  suddenly  plunged  into 


HOW  THE  WEST  WAS  SAVED  35 1 

battle  without  the  opportunity  of  choice.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  they  knew  of  his  coming,  he  thought  the  Indians 
might  desert,  and  felt  quite  sure  that  the  French  would 
remain  neutral.  Accordingly,  he  sent  in  his  prisoner  to 
announce  his  coming,  and  at  sundown  started  for  the 
town,  in  two  divisions.  All  went  as  he  had  hoped.  The 
French  retreated  to  their  houses  in  terror.  The  Indians 
drew  off  or  held  aloof,  some  of  them,  with  the  engaging 
simplicity  of  their  nature,  offering  to  help  Clark,  who  evi 
dently  struck  them  as  a  man  likely  to  win  victories.  Ham 
ilton  meantime  had  sent  out  a  party,  having  seen  the  Amer 
ican  camp-fires  of  the  night  before  ;  but  these  men  did  not 
wade  through  icy  water,  found  nobody,  got  nowhere,  and 
slipped  back  into  the  fort  the  next  day,  where  the  British 
were  soon  closely  besieged,  for  Clark  opened  fire  on  the 
fort  at  once,  and,  under  cover  of  night,  threw  up  an  in- 
trenchment.  From  this  vantage-ground  the  American 
riflemen  picked  off  Hamilton's  artillerymen,  so  that  the 
guns,  which  did  but  little  execution  at  best,  were  quickly 
silenced.  Clark  then  summoned  the  fort  to  surrender. 
Hamilton  declined,  and  asked  for  three  days'  truce,  which 
Clark  refused,  and  ordered  the  backwoodsmen  to  open  fire. 
While  these  negotiations  were  going  on,  one  of  Hamil 
ton's  scalping  parties  came  back  and  ran  right  into  Clark's 
men.  They  were  all  killed  or  captured,  and  the  six  Ind 
ian  prisoners  were  tomahawked  and  thrown  into  the 
river,  which  showed  the  tribes  that  Hamilton's  power  was 
at  an  end,  and  made  his  own  French  volunteers  from  De 
troit  waver  and  lose  heart.  Hamilton  had  now  only  his 
English  to  depend  on,  and,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  24th, 
sent  out  a  flag.  There  was  some  bickering,  and  Clark 
made,  apparently,  some  unpleasant  remarks  about  mur- 


352  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

dering  women  and  children,  and  buying  scalps,  after  which 
Hamilton  and  his  seventy-nine  men  who  had  remained 
true  to  him  surrendered  as  prisoners  of  war.  Most  of  the 
prisoners  were  paroled,  but  Hamilton  and  twenty-seven 
others  were  sent  to  Virginia. 

The  victory  was  complete.  It  was  a  very  shining  and 
splendid  feat  of  arms.  In  the  dead  of  winter,  with  a  large 
part  of  his  force  composed  of  men  of  doubtful  loyalty 
and  of  another  race,  Clark  had  marched  across  two  hun 
dred  and  forty  miles  of  flooded  wilderness.  With  no  arms 
but  rifles,  he  had  taken  a  heavily  stockaded  fort,  defend 
ed  by  artillery  and  garrisoned  by  regular  troops  under  the 
command  of  a  brave  and  capable  soldier.  The  victory 
was  not  only  complete,  but  final.  Clark  had  broken  the 
English  campaign  in  the  West ;  he  had  shattered  their  Ind 
ian  confederacy,  and  wrested  from  them  a  region  larger 
than  most  European  kingdoms.  He  had  opened  the  way, 
never  to  be  closed  again,  to  the  advance  of  the  American 
pioneers,  the  vanguard  of  the  American  people  in  their 
march  across  the  continent.  When  the  treaty  of  peace 
was  made  at  Paris,  the  boundary  of  the  United  States 
went  to  the  Lakes  on  the  North,  and  to  the  Mississippi 
on  the  West,  and  that  it  did  so  was  due  to  Clark  and  his 
riflemen.  It  is  one  of  the  sad  questions,  of  which  history 
offers  so  many,  why  the  conqueror  of  Vincennes  never 
reached  again  the  heights  of  achievement  which  he  at 
tained  in  the  first  flush  of  manhood.  But,  whatever  the 
answer  may  be,  the  great  deed  that  he  did  was  one  of  the 
glories  of  the  Revolution  which  can  never  be  dimmed,  and 
which  finds  its  lasting  monument  in  the  vast  country  then 
wrested  from  the  British  crown  by  American  riflemen  in 
spired  by  the  brilliant  leadership  of  George  Rogers  Clark. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   INVASION    OF  GEORGIA 

THE  first  idea  of  the  English  Government  in  deal 
ing  with  its  revolted  colonies  was  to  subdue  the 
North,  where  the  Rebellion  had  broken  out.  For 
this  purpose  they  had  seized  Boston,  New  York,  and 
Philadelphia,  and  planned  with  such  care  the  expedition 
of  Burgoyne.  They  had  been  driven  from  Boston  ;  Bur- 
goyne  had  been  beaten  and  his  army  made  prisoners,  and 
they  had  been  forced  to  retreat  from  Philadelphia.  New 
York  alone  remained.  It  was  evident  to  everybody  that 
the  attack  from  the  North  had  failed,  so  the  Ministry  de 
termined,  as  a  last  resort,  to  conquer  America  from  the 
South,  and  Lord  George  Germain  proceeded  to  plan  this 
new  movement  as  carefully  as  he  had  that  of  Burgoyne. 
Invasions  were  to  be  made,  under  Prevost,  from  Florida, 
whither  troops  had  already  been  sent,  while  more  were  to 
be  detached  from  New  York  to  aid  in  the  conquest  of 
Georgia,  and  a  separate  expedition  of  5,000  men  was  also 
to  be  directed  against  that  State.  Ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  their  Western  campaign  was  even  then  being  shat 
tered  by  Clark,  and  equally  uninstructed  as  to  the  hard- 
fighting  backwoodsmen  in  the  settlements  beyond  the 
mountains,  the  Ministry  also  intended  to  let  loose  the 
Indians  on  the  western  border  of  the  Southern  States. 

353 


354  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Thus,  with  attacks  along  the  sea-coast,  the  seizure  of  the 
ports,  Indian  war  upon  the  frontier,  and  a  strong  support 
from  the  loyalists,  Germain  and  his  King  and  colleagues 
hoped  to  conquer  the  Southern  colonies,  bring  them  un 
der  the  British  flag,  and,  that  done,  once  more  assail  and 
try  to  divide  the  Middle  and  Eastern  States.  It  was  an 
extensive  and  sufficiently  intelligent  plan,  and  no  effort 
was  spared  to  carry  it  to  success.  Ships  and  troops  were 
furnished  in  abundance  ;  the  flames  of  a  bitter  civil  war 
were  lighted  in  the  Carolinas  and  Georgia,  and  the  last 
struggle  of  England  to  retain  her  Colonies  proved  the 
most  protracted,  and  at  times  the  most  successful,  of  any 
she  had  hitherto  attempted. 

A  beginning  was  made  in  the  autumn  of  1778  by  Pre- 
vost  sending  out  two  expeditions  from  East  Florida  com 
posed  of  regulars  and  Tory  refugees  from  Georgia  and 
South  Carolina.  They  were  repulsed  from  the  Fort  at 
Sunbury  and  at  the  Ogeechee  River,  but  they  ravaged  the 
country,  robbed  the  houses,  and  carried  off  slaves,  plate, 
and  cattle.  Robert  Howe,  who  was  in  command  in  Geor 
gia,  undertook  a  retaliatory  expedition  against  St.  Augus 
tine,  but  the  movement  was  ill-planned ;  his  men  suffered 
from  disease  in  the  swamps,  and  he  was  forced  to  retire 
without  having  accomplished  anything.  Hardly  had  he 
returned  when  Colonel  Campbell  appeared  off  Tybee  with 
3,000  men  from  New  York.  He  passed  the  bar  success 
fully  and  advanced  on  Savannah.  Howe  attempted  to 
oppose  him,  with  less  than  one-third  as  many  men,  and 
those  raw  militia.  The  effort  naturally  was  entirely  vain. 
Campbell  outflanked  the  Americans,  routed  them,  and, 
with  but  trifling  loss,  captured  Savannah,  taking  nearly 
five  hundred  prisoners  and  a  large  amount  of  stores  and 


THE  INVASION  OF  GEORGIA  355 

munitions  of  war.  Campbell  then  offered  protection  to  all 
who  would  support  the  British  cause  in  arms,  and  the 
American  soldiers  who  refused  to  enlist  were  sent  to  die 
of  fever  on  prison-ships.  Many  of  the  inhabitants  sub 
mitted,  others  fled  to  South  Carolina,  or  to  the  hill-coun 
try  of  the  interior,  thence  to  carry  on  the  conflict  as  best 
they  might.  It  was  evident  that  the  British  war  in  the 
South  was  to  be  absolutely  merciless,  and  that  property  was 
to  be  destroyed  and  plundered  without  let  or  hindrance. 

Cheered  by  the  news  of  the  taking  of  Savannah,  Pre- 
vost  marched  up,  reducing  Sunbury  on  the  way,  while 
Campbell,  with  eight  hundred  men,  took  Augusta.  The 
State  had  thus  fallen  completely  and  quickly  into  the 
enemy's  hands,  and  been  again  subjected  to  the  Crown. 
The  ease  and  rapidity  of  the  British  success  were  due  to 
the  fact  that  Georgia  was  the  weakest  and  most  thinly  pop 
ulated  of  the  colonies.  The  only  troops  were  militia  hast 
ily  called  out,  and  they  were  badly  equipped  and  ill-led. 
Nor  was  the  situation  improved  by  the  new  commander  of 
the  Southern  department,  Benjamin  Lincoln,  sent  down 
there  by  Congress.  Lincoln  was  a  worthy  man,  brave  and 
patriotic,  but  he  had  seen  little  service,  had  been  unfortu 
nate  in  what  he  had  seen,  was  slow,  and  without  military 
capacity.  He  collected  some  1,100  men  and  took  up  his 
position  on  the  South  Carolina  side  of  the  Savannah  River. 
Then  he  and  his  opponents  looked  at  each  other,  neither 
daring  to  cross.  While  they  waited,  it  seemed,  for  a  mo 
ment,  as  if  fortune  was  turning  again  to  the  American  side. 
Prevost  sent  out  a  detachment  to  Bpaufort,  and  Moultrie 
whipped  them  and  drove  them  back  to  their  ships,  while  an 
other  and  stronger  party,  sent  to  ravage  the  western  part  of 
South  Carolina,  was  attacked  by  Colonel  Pickens,  routed, 


356 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


GENERAL  BENJAMIN  LINCOLN. 
From  a  portrait  painted  by  C.  IV.  Peale  in  2784. 


and  driven  back  beyond  the  Savannah.     Encouraged  by 
these  events,  and  having  received  large  reinforcements  of 

militia  from  both  North  and 
South  Carolina,  Lincoln  made 
the  fatal  mistake  of  detach 
ing  Ashe,  with  1,500  men,  to 
occupy  Augusta  and  then  de 
scend  the  river  to  Savannah. 
Without  discipline  or  any 
military  precautions,  ill  -  led 
and  inexperienced,  Ashe  and 
his  men  offered  an  easy  prey 
to  the  British,  who,  on  March 
3,  1779,  cut  them  off,  routed 
them,  captured  their  arms  and 
cannon,  and  made  prisoners 
of  all  but  some  four  hundred  and  fifty,  who  escaped  by 
swimming  the  river.  Undeterred  by  this  loss  of  a  fourth 
of  his  entire  army,  which  showed  how  unfit  it  was  as  yet 
to  undertake  offensive  operations,  and  how  much  it  needed 
care  in  handling,  drill,  and  organization,  Lincoln  decided 
to  march  against  Savannah  with  the  troops  he  still  had  left. 
Instead  of  waiting  for  him,  Prevost  very  wisely  crossed  the 
river  with  3,000  men  and  his  Indian  allies,  drove  Moultrie 
before  him,  and  made  direct  for  Charleston.  There  all 
was  confusion.  Defences  were  prepared,  but  there  was 
only  the  militia  behind  them.  Washington  and  his  army 
were  far  away,  no  help  came  from  Congress,  many  people 
began  to  regret  independence,  others  urged  taking  a  neu 
tral  position  between  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States, 
while  the  voice  of  the  majority  seemed  to  be  in  favor  of 
surrendering  the  town  to  avoid  the  horrors  of  a  storm. 


THE  INVASION  OF  GEORGIA  357 

When  Prevost  appeared,  parleys  and  negotiations  were 
opened  instead  of  batteries,  and  while  these  proceeded  the 
British  learned,  by  an  intercepted  letter,  that  Lincoln  was 
advancing  to  the  relief  of  the  city.  Prevost  immediately 
abandoned  the  siege,  took  to  his  boats,  and  sailed  back  to 
Savannah.  Lincoln,  having  failed  to  reach  Prevost,  retired 
to  the  hill-country  with  only  about  eight  hundred  men,  to 
avoid  the  intense  heat  of  the  summer,  and  the  English  were 
left  in  complete  possession  of  Georgia. 

They  were  not  destined,  however,  to  remain  long  un 
disturbed,  and  the  attack  came  from  an  unexpected  quar 
ter.  On  September  ist,  D'Estaing,  who  had  been  cruising 
successfully  in  the  West  Indies,  appeared  suddenly  off 
Savannah  and  captured  four  British  men-of-war.  He  at 
once  sent  word  to  the  Government  of  South  Carolina,  ask 
ing  them  to  join  with  him  in  reducing  Savannah,  and 
then,  unassisted,  landed  his  own  forces,  and  summoned 
Prevost  to  surrender.  While  notes  were  being  exchanged, 
Colonel  Maitland,  by  a  forced  march,  succeeded  in  bring 
ing  up  the  troops  from  Beaufort,  and,  thus  reinforced, 
Prevost  refused  to  capitulate. 

The  South  Carolinians  responded  eagerly  to  the  invi 
tation  of  D'Estaing,  but,  no  army  being  ready  and  in  the 
field,  it  took  time  to  get  out  the  militia,  and  it  was  Sep 
tember  23d  before  Lincoln  arrived  to  aid  the  French. 
Prevost  had  employed  the  interval  well.  He  had  worked 
day  and  night  with  the  ample  slave  labor  at  his  command, 
and  had  thrown  up  a  strong  line  of  redoubts  and  intrench- 
ments.  The  result  was  that  the  days  slipped  by  and  the 
besiegers  made  no  progress.  At  last,  on  October  8th, 
D'Estaing  announced  that  he  could  no  longer  endanger 
his  fleet  by  remaining  in  this  exposed  situation,  with  the 


353 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


storms  of  autumn  at  hand,  and  an  assault  was  accordingly 
determined  upon  for  the  following  day.  It  was  a  desper 
ate  undertaking,  and  the  event 
proved  its  rashness.  One  col 
umn,  under  Count  Dillon,  be 
came  entangled  in  a  swamp, 
was  exposed  to  the  British  bat 
teries,  and  never  came  into  ac 
tion  at  all.  The  other,  led  by 
D'Estaing  himself,  and  com 
posed  of  French  and  South 
Carolinians,  assailed  the  works 
in  front.  It  was  a  gallant  as 
sault,  and  was  continued  for  an 
hour.  An  American  flag  and 
a  French  flag  were  planted  on 
the  ramparts,  but  the  allies 
could  not  effect  a  lodgement.  While  they  were  still  strug 
gling  to  hold  their  ground,  a  well-directed  charge,  led  by 
Maitland,  drove  them  back,  and  the  day  was  lost.  The 
attack  was  ill-advised  and  unfortunate,  but  was  delivered 
with  great  courage  and  daring.  D'Estaing  was  hit  twice  ; 
Pulaski  fell  mortally  wounded,  and  gave  his  life  to  the 
country  he  had  come  to  serve.  The  Americans  lost  two 
hundred  men,  the  French  nearly  six  hundred,  while  the 
loss  of  the  British  was  very  small.  Prevost  and  Maitland 
defended  their  position  with  the  utmost  firmness  and  brav 
ery.  Their  works  were  good,  their  arrangements  excel 
lent,  and  they  fairly  earned  their  victory. 

This  repulse  was  a  heavy  blow  to  the  cause  of  the  Revo 
lution  in  the  South.  The  French  retired  to  their  ships  and 
the  fleet  withdrew.  Having  failed  to  accomplish  anything 


.._ 

COUNT  PULASKI. 
From  an  engraving  by  Ant.  Oleszczynski. 


I 


THE  INVASION  OF  GEORGIA  361 

when,  for  the  first  time,  they  controlled  the  sea  and  also 
had  a  large  body  of  regular  troops  to  support  them,  the 
Americans  had  a  gloomy  outlook  for  success  by  their  own 
unaided  efforts.  The  militia  of  Georgia  and  South  Caro 
lina  retired  to  their  homes,  while  Lincoln  withdrew  to 
Charleston  with  the  remnants  of  his  army.  Without  men, 
without  money,  and  without  apparent  ability  for  effective 
preparation,  South  Carolina  seemed  helpless,  if  the  enemy 
continued  their  invasion.  The  loyalists  in  the  South,  more 
over,  were  very  numerous  and  far  more  active  than  in  the 
North.  They  now  came  forward  zealously  in  support  of 
the  Crown,  while  disaffection  began  to  spread  among  the 
people,  who  saw  themselves  exposed  to  war  without,  as  it 
seemed,  any  support  from  the  General  Government  or  any 
means  of  effective  resistance  or  vigorous  leadership  among 
themselves. 

Georgia,  upon  which  the  first  attack  had  been  made, 
passed  in  this  way  wholly  into  the  power  of  the  British,  who 
re-established  their  government,  and  then  proceeded  to 
pillage  and  plunder  everyone  suspected  of  favoring  the 
Revolution.  Slaves  were  seized  and  sold  everywhere,  plate 
and  all  valuables  that  could  be  found  were  taken,  houses 
and  plantations  were  wrecked  and  ruined.  The  war  in  the 
South  thus  assumed,  at  the  start,  a  character  of  ferocity 
and  terror  which  had  been  wanting,  as  a  rule,  in  the 
North,  where  the  British  never  succeeded  in  controlling 
any  large  region  of  country,  and  were  constantly  held  at 
bay  and  brought  to  battle  by  Washington  and  his  army. 
This  policy  of  destruction,  accompanied,  as  it  was,  with 
much  burning  and  slaying,  had  at  first  an  effect  of  paralyz 
ing  opposition,  but  in  the  end  it  developed  a  resistance 
all  the  fiercer  and  more  stubborn  because  inflamed  by  the 


362  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

sense  of  wrong,  suffering,  and  cruelty.  When  the  French 
fleet,  however,  sailed  away,  and  Lincoln  withdrew,  dis 
heartened,  with  his  broken  army  to  Charleston,  nothing 
could  have  looked  fairer  on  the  surface  than  the  prospects 
of  the  British.  They  had  actually  regained  one  colony, 
which  they  held  firmly  with  the  armed  hand,  and,  as  far  as 
Virginia,  the  whole  South,  as  yet  undefended  and  unpre 
pared  and  with  disaffection  rife  among  the  people,  lay  open 
to  their  invasion. 

The  attack  was  not  long  delayed.  Clinton,  having 
received  reinforcements  from  England  and  withdrawn 
the  troops  from  Rhode  Island,  set  sail  on  December  26, 
1779,  with  8,500  men,  in  the  fleet  commanded  by  Ad 
miral  Arbuthnot.  After  a  stormy  voyage,  from  which  the 
ships  suffered  severely,  Clinton  reached  Tybee  toward  the 
end  of  January,  where  he  was  reinforced  by  3,000  men, 
and  more  were  ordered  from  New  York.  He  then  began 
to  move  on  Charleston.  Lincoln  had  come  to  the  city 
with  2,000  men,  and,  yielding  to  the  wishes  of  the  people, 
decided  to  remain  and  defend  the  town,  which,  with  his 
little  force,  was  a  hopeless  undertaking  and  a  blunder  of 
the  first  magnitude.  Against  such  overwhelming  num 
bers  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  by  fighting  ;  and  his 
one  plain  duty  was  to  abandon  the  city  and  hold  the  field, 
as  Washington  had  done  at  Philadelphia.  Even  if  he  was 
unable  to  fight,  he  then  would  have  offered  a  rallying 
point  for  resistance,  and  would  have  been  able  to  gather 
troops  and  check  the  enemy's  movements.  As  it  was, 
he  simply  devoted  himself  and  his  army  to  a  feeble  and 
useless  resistance,  and  to  certain  capture.  His  North 
Carolina  militia  left  him,  but  he  allowed  seven  hundred 
veterans  of  the  Virginian  line  to  join  him,  thus  involving 


.       THE  INVASION  OF  GEORGIA  363 

in  certain  disaster  a  body  of  tried  troops  which  would  of 
themselves  have  made  the  nucleus  of  an  effective  army  if 
they  had  been  held  outside  the  city. 

The    British    moved    slowly  but    surely.     Their   army 


PART  OF  THE  ARTICLES    OF  CAPITULATION  AGREED   ON  AT   THE  SURREN 
DER    OF  FORT  MOULT RIE. 

Reproduced  in  fac-simile  from  the  original  in  the  Emmet  collection,  Lenox  Library. 

advanced  deliberately  along  the  coast,  and  it  was  not  until 
April  gth  that  Arbuthnot  ran  past  Fort  Moultrie  and 
made  himself  master  of  the  harbor.  Even  then  there 
was  time  for  Lincoln  to  withdraw  and  take  to  the  open 
country.  But  he  stayed  on,  quiet  and  helpless,  where  he 


364  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

was,  and  watched  the  British,  now  reinforced  by  Cornwallis 
with  three  thousand  men,  gradually  draw  their  lines  and 
parallels  until  every  approach  was  closed  and  all  escape 
was  impossible.  On  May  i2th  the  city  surrendered,  and 
Lincoln  and  his  army  were  made  prisoners  of  war. 

It  was  a  great  disaster,  but  the  loss  of  the  city  was 
the  least  part  of  it.  The  fatal  blow  was  in  the  capture 
of  Lincoln's  army,  the  only  organized  American  force  in 
the  South.  Washington,  too  distant  to  be  heard  in  time, 
had  protested  against  the  attempt  to  hold  the  city,  and, 
when  the  news  that  Arbuthnot  had  crossed  the  bar  ar 
rived,  urged  immediate  withdrawal.  But  his  advice  was 
too  late,  and  would  have  been  unheeded  in  any  event. 
Then  came  the  inevitable  capitulation,  and  the  result  he 
had  foreseen.  No  centre  of  resistance  was  left.  No 
American  army,  however  small,  was  in  the  field  and  the 
British  ranged  the  State  unopposed.  One  expedition 
marched  up  the  Savannah  to  Augusta.  Another  took 
the  post  in  Ninety-six,  and  a  third,  crossing  the  Santee, 
came  on  a  portion  of  the  Virginia  line  intended  for 
Charleston,  and,  under  the  lead  of  Tarleton,  massacred 
most  of  them  after  they  had  surrendered.  Panic  seized 
upon  the  country.  A  general  confiscation  of  property 
was  ordered,  as  had  been  done  in  Georgia ;  and  those 
who  had  surrendered  found  no  safety.  Ruin  was  threat 
ened  to  all  who  had  supported  the  American  cause ;  and 
the  proclamation  of  June  ist,  offering  pardon  to  every 
one  who  came  in  and  submitted,  was  superseded  on  June 
3d  by  another  proclamation,  which  Clinton  put  forth  just 
before  his  departure,  declaring  that  all  who  failed  to  take 
the  oath  of  allegiance  would  be  treated  as  rebels,  and 
would  suffer  the  extreme  penalties  of  the  law.  South 


nil  i 

XIM  Hi  HI  '  IT" 

B  lyMji.  Hill 

jl>l^|l  a  d 

1^1  sC'i  TV>     v!  .N  I.) 

^lill^n  "  iiip 
|li!Jii.y    •<  "'^^ 
su  1> 


HE  FIRST  AND  LAST  PARTS    OF  SIR   HENRY  CLINTON'S   OFFER   OF  PARDON  TO  REB 
ELS  IN  1780. 

From  the  original  document  belonging  to  the  Emmet  collection  in  the  Lenox  Library. 


366  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Carolina,  like  Georgia,  now  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  British. 
For  six  weeks  all  resistance  ceased,  but  the  savage  policy 
of  the  English  Generals  soon  began  to  bear  fruit.  They 
had  conducted  their  military  operations  well,  and  were  in 
possession  of  two  States  where  the  loyalists  were  numer 
ous  and  powerful.  Instead  of  seeking  to  conciliate  and 
divide,  they  took  the  course  of  ruining  and  killing  in  all 
directions.  Friends  as  well  as  foes  were  involved,  and 
the  people  soon  saw  that  there  was  no  safety  except  in 
armed  resistance.  No  braver  people  lived  than  those  of 
the  Southern  States,  and  they  were  thus  put  with  their 
backs  against  the  wall  to  fight  for  all  that  made  life  worth 
having.  They  were  stunned  at  first  by  their  misfortunes  ; 
but  they  were  soon  to  rally,  and  then  the  British  policy 
of  rapine  and  ruin  was  destined  to  bring  its  natural  results. 


CHAPTER   XV 

THE  SOUTH  RISES  IN  DEFENCE 

THREE  weeks  after  the  fall  of  Charleston,  Sir  Henry 
Clinton  wrote  home  to  the  Ministry:  "I  may 
venture  to  assert  that  there  are  few  men  in  South 
Carolina  who  are  not  either  our  prisoners  or  in  arms  with 
us."  The  assertion  was  not  extravagant,  for  the  State 
seemed  to  lie  prostrate  at  the  foot  of  its  conqueror.  Yet, 
although  the  native  loyalists  were  numerous  and  active, 
the  submission  of  the  mass  of  the  people  was  more  appar 
ent  than  real.  Many  of  them,  stunned  by  the  surrender  of 
the  capital,  and  well  aware  that  the  only  American  army  in 
the  State  had  ceased  to  exist,  were  ready  to  yield  and  ac 
cept  British  rule  in  silence.  If  they  had  been  properly  and 
judiciously  dealt  with,  they  could  have  easily  been  kept 
quiet  ;  and  if  not  loyal,  they  would  at  least  have  been  neu 
tral.  But  the  policy  of  the  British  Commanders  made  this 
impossible.  To  the  people  of  South  Carolina,  brave,  high- 
spirited  and  proud,  they  offered  only  the  choice  between 
death,  confiscation,  and  ruin  on  the  one  side,  and  active 
service  in  the  British  army  on  the  other.  Thus  forced  to 
the  wall,  the  South  Carolinian  who  was  not  a  convinced 
loyalist  quickly  determined  that,  if  he  must  fight  for  his 
life  in  any  event,  he  would  do  his  fighting  on  the  side  of 
his  country.  Major  James,  for  example,  went  into  George- 

367 


— 2^r^x  ^**^  -i^******* 


FAC-SIMILE   (REDUCED}  OF  THE  FIRST  AND  LAST  PARTS   OF  PATRICK 

HENRY'S  LETTER    OF  INSTRUCTIONS   TO   GEORGE  ROGERS   CLARK. 

(From  "  The  Conquest  of  the  North-vest,"  by  William  E.  English.) 


THE  SOUTH   RISES  IN  DEFENCE  369 

town  to  offer,  in  behalf  of  himself  and  his  neighbors,  to 
remain  neutral.  The  usual  choice  was  brutally  offered  him 
by  the  Captain  in  command.  James  replied  that  he  could 
not  accept  such  conditions  ;  and  the  gallant  Captain  there 
upon  said  that  James  was  a  "damned  rebel,"  and  that  he 
would  have  him  hanged.  Then,  with  a  chair,  James 
knocked  down  the  representative  of  Great  Britain,  left  him 
senseless,  and  went  off  with  his  four  brothers  to  take  up 
arms  against  England  and  fight  her  to  the  death.  In  one 
form  or  another,  barring  perhaps  the  little  incident  of  the 
chair,  James  and  his  brothers  were  typical.  The  people 
began  to  rise  in  all  directions,  take  their  arms  and  withdraw 
to  the  woods  and  swamps,  thence  to  wage  a  relentless,  if 
desultory,  warfare  against  their  invaders. 

All  that  was  needed  to  direct  the  popular  force  thus 
roused  to  life  and  make  it  as  effective  as  a  guerilla  war 
could  be,  was  proper  leadership,  and  that  was  found  at 
once.  Among  the  few  who  were  neither  prisoners  nor  in 
arms  with  the  British,  and  to  whom  Sir  Henry  Clinton  so 
carelessly  referred,  was  Francis  Marion,  soon  to  become 
very  well  known  to  the  British,  and  called  by  them,  both 
in  hatred  and  in  fear,  the  "  Swamp  Fox."  He  was  of 
Huguenot  descent,  and  had  served  in  the  old  French  war, 
taken  arms  early  against  England,  fought  at  Charleston 
and  Savannah,  and  had  been  saved  from  surrender  \vith 
Lincoln  by  a  broken  ankle,  which  had  forced  him  to  leave 
the  city  before  it  was  surrounded.  Others  of  the  "  few  " 
mentioned  by  Clinton  were  Davie,  Pickens,  and  Davidson, 
all  familiar  with  partisan  warfare,  all  brave  and  able  to  rally 
men  around  them.  The  most  important,  however,  in  the 
Clintonian  exception,  was  Thomas  Sumter,  a  Virginian  by 
birth,  like  Marion  a  soldier  of  the  old  French  war,  and  of 


370          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  Revolution  from  the  beginning.  He  was  Colonel  of 
a  Continental  regiment,  and  in  recognition  of  this  fact  the 
British  turned  his  wife  out  of  doors  and  burned  his  house. 
It  was  not  an  exceptional  performance  at  all,  but  quite 
characteristic  of  the  war  which  Tarleton  opened  by  the 
slaughter  of  the  surrendered  Virginians  at  the  Waxhaw, 


SURPRISED  BY  MARION. 


which  was  inflamed  by  the  bitterness  between  loyalist  and 
patriot,  both  active  in  arms,  and  which  was  marked  by  tire 
and  sword  among  the  peaceful  villages  as  well  as  in  the 
soldiers'  camps.  Yet  even  if  a  common  incident,  it  was 
one  well  calculated  to  edge  the  blade  of  a  bold  fighter  like 
Sumter  when  he  saw  his  wife  a  wanderer  and  his  home  in 
ruins.  Rallying  a  few  followers  about  him,  all  men  like 


THE  SOUTH  RISES  IN  DEFENCE 


371 


the  user  of  the  chair,  with  wrongs  to  avenge,  he  organized 
and  armed  them  as  best  he  could  and  prepared  to  strike. 

Opportunity  soon  came.  July 
12,  1780,  Captain  Huck  was 
out  on  a  patrol  with  twenty 
mounted  infantry  and  sixty 
loyalists.  He  had  reached 
what  is  now  Brattonsville, 
some  twenty  miles  from  Fish 
ing  Creek,  the  day  before,  and 
had  passed  the  night  at  the 
house  of  one  Williamson  and 
had  taken  some  prisoners  on 
the  estate  and  then  threatened 
the  life  of  Mrs.  Bratton,  who 
lived  hard  by  and  whose  hus 
band  was  with  Sumter.  The 
next  day  was  to  be  given  to 
the  usual  work  of  destruction.  But  negligent  watch  was 
kept  and  Colonel  Bratton,  one  of  Sumter's  men,  with  about 
seventy-five  followers,  reached  the  place  unobserved  during 
the  night  and  divided  his  force  into  two  parties  which  ad 
vanced  along  the  road  from  opposite  directions.  Captain 
Huck,  roused  from  sleep,  rushed  out,  mounted  his  horse, 
and  tried  to  rally  his  troops  against  the  enemy,  charging 
in  upon  him  with  loud  shouts.  The  Americans  were  inferior 
in  number,  but  they  were  unexpected  ;  they  were  desperate, 
and  they  had  the  advantage  of  a  complete  surprise,  for  it 
was  understood  that  the  country  was  conquered,  and  the 
spirit  of  the  people  broken.  All  was  soon  over.  Huck 
was  killed  with  most  of  his  men,  and  his  party  was  de 
stroyed.  It  was  the  first  slight  change  in  the  long  run  of 


GENERAL  ANDREW  PIC  KENS. 

Front  a  ccfy  by  John  Stolle  of  the  original  paint 
ing  by  Thomas  Sully,  owned  by  Mr.  Clarence  Cun 
ttmg/iam,  Charleston,  S.  C. 


372  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

defeat.  Many  heavy  reverses  were  still  to  come,  but  a  be 
ginning  on  the  right  side  at  least  had  been  made.  The 
great  fact  made  evident  in  this  skirmish  was  that  the  peo 
ple  of  the  South  were  up  in  arms  and  much  in  earnest. 

The  victory  of  Colonel  Bratton  too,  although  small  in 
itself,  was  nevertheless  potent  in  its  results.  Cornwallis 
had  undertaken  to  hold  the  State  by  taking  possession 
of  scattered  posts,  and  so  long  as  the  people  were  submis 
sive  this  answered  very  well,  but  when  the  country  rose 
around  him  every  outlying  garrison  was  in  danger.  The 
fight  of  Sumter's  men  and  their  complete  destruction  of 
Huck  and  his  party  also  had  an  immediate  effect  upon 
the  public  mind.  Men  ceased  to  think  of  yielding  to 
the  British  as  the  only  resource,  and  many  who  had  given 
way  in  the  first  panic  returned  to  the  patriots'  cause.  A 
large  detachment  under  Colonel  Lisle,  who  had  been 
forced  into  the  British  army  in  this  way,  left  the  English 
colors  and  joined  Sumter,  who,  thus  strengthened,  at 
tacked  the  British  at  Rocky  Mount.  He  did  not  take 
the  post,  but  a  week  later  he  surprised  the  British  at  Hang 
ing  Rock,  routed  the  loyalist  regiment,  sacked  their  camp, 
and  inflicted  severe  losses  upon  the  regiment  of  the  Prince 
of  Wales.  He  then  drew  off  to  the  Catawba  settlements, 
and  recruits  began  to  come  in  to  him  rapidly.  The  war 
was  spreading,  the  people  were  taking  up  arms,  and  Corn 
wallis,  instead  of  being  able  to  invade  North  Carolina, 
confident  in  the  possession  of  South  Carolina  and  Georgia, 
found  that  as  he  advanced  the  country  behind  him  broke 
out  in  revolt,  and  that  he  really  held  little  more  than  the 
ground  which  he  could  occupy. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  full  effects  of  the  disaster  at 
Charleston,  where  Lincoln  had  cooped  himself  up,  only  to 


THE  SOUTH   RISES  IN  DEFENCE  373 

surrender,  became  more  than  ever  apparent.  Sumter  and 
Marion  and  Pickens,  it  is  true,  had  stemmed  the  tide  set 
ting  toward  submission.  They  had  roused  the  people,  and 
forced  the  British  to  fight  for  everything  they  held,  but 
they  could  do  no  more  than  carry  on  a  partisan  war  of  post 
attacks  and  skirmishes.  They  had  merely  the  men  they 
could  collect  themselves,  under  the  rudest  discipline,  and 
so  poorly  armed  that  they  were  obliged  to  depend  in  large 
measure  upon  victory  over  their  enemies  for  the  guns, 
powder,  and  small  arms,  which  were  only  to  be  procured 
as  the  prizes  of  a  successful  battle.  The  crying  need  was 
an  organized,  disciplined  force,  no  matter  how  small,  which 
would  form  a  centre  of  resistance  and  to  which  men  could 
rally.  This  Lincoln  ought  to  have  preserved,  and  this 
force  it  was  now  sought  to  supply  once  more  from  the 
North. 

Washington,  before  the  fall  of  Charleston,  ever  ready 
to  take  risks  himself  in  order  to  help  against  invasion 
elsewhere,  now,  as  in  the  case  of  Burgoyne,  detached  from 
his  small  army  DeKalb,  with  the  Maryland  division  and 
the  Delaware  regiment,  amounting  to  2,000  men  in  all, 
and  sent  them  South.  They  moved  slowly,  for  transpor 
tation  was  difficult,  and  DeKalb  was  unfamiliar  with  the 
country.  To  the  call  for  aid  Virginia  responded  gener 
ously,  authorizing  a  levy  of  2,500  men,  and  the  small  force 
of  the  State  already  in  arms,  some  three  to  four  hundred 
strong,  joined  the  Continental  forces.  Still  it  was  June 
2Oth  before  DeKarb  reached  North  Carolina,  only  to  find 
when  he  arrived  there  no  magazines,  no  preparation,  and  a 
militia  anything  but  subordinate.  Nevertheless,  here  at 
least  was  the  beginning  of  an  army  for  the  South — a  good 
body  of  well-disciplined  troops  from  the  Continental  army 


374          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

quite  sufficient  to  form  a  rallying  point.  All  that  was  re 
quired  to  develop  it  was  a  competent  General.  For  this 
difficult  work  Washington  had  picked  out  Greene — un 
doubtedly  the  best  selection  that  could  have  been  made— 
but  Congress  thought  otherwise,  and  chose  their  favorite 
Gates  to  take  command  in  the  Southern  department  with 
an  entirely  independent  authority.  They  honestly  be 
lieved,  no  doubt,  that  Gates  would  clear  the  South,  as  he 
had  in  their  opinion  vanquished  Burgoyne,  but  even  if  the 
victory  at  Saratoga  had  been  in  any  way  due  to  him, 
which  it  was  not,  he  now  had  before  him  a  widely  differ 
ent  task.  Here,  in  the  Carolinas,  he  succeeded  to  no 
Schuyler,  who  had  hampered  the  invaders  and  checked 
their  march  by  skilfully  prepared  obstructions,  nor  did  he 
come  to  an  army  flushed  with  success,  and  growing  every 
day  by  the  arrival  of  well-armed  recruits.  In  the  South 
there  was  no  American  army  ;  the  British,  instead  of  being 
concentrated  in  a  single  united  force,  held  all  the  posts  in 
two  States,  and  were  able  to  go  where  they  pleased,  and 
draw  supplies  from  the  coast,  instead  of  being  cut  off  from 
all  communication  as  Burgoyne  had  been.  The  people, 
stunned  by  the  disasters  which  had  fallen  so  rapidly  upon 
them,  were  only  just  rousing  themselves  to  fight,  and  in 
that  sparsely  settled  region  were  singularly  destitute  of 
arms  and  equipments,  which,  with  their  seaports  in  British 
hands,  could  only  be  obtained  after  long  delays  from  the 
North.  It  was  a  situation  which  demanded  not  only  great 
military  capacity,  but  patience,  endurance,  and  the  ability 
to  avoid  a  decisive  action  until  there  had  been  time  to 
rally  the  people  to  the  nucleus  of  regulars  and  make  an 
army  able  to  march  and  fight,  to  win  victories  and  sustain 
defeats. 


THE  SOUTH   RISES  IN  DEFENCE  375 

Such  were  the  difficult  but  imperative  conditions  of 
success  in  the  South,  and  Gates  disregarded  every  one  of 
them.  As  soon  as  he  arrived  in  DeKalb's  camp  he  made 
up  his  mind  to  march  at  once  on  Camden,  a  most  impor 
tant  point,  which  he  apparently  expected  to  take  without 
trouble.  On  July  27th,  having  sent  Marion  out  to  watch 
the  enemy — almost  the  only  intelligent  step  taken  at  this 
time — Gates  started  for  Camden  along  a  line  which  led 
him  through  a  poor  and  barren  country,  where  his  arrny 
was  hard  pressed  for  subsistence.  On  August  3d  he  was 
joined  at  the  crossing  of  the  Pedee  by  Colonel  Porter- 
field  with  a  small  but  excellent  body  of  Virginians. 
Thence  he  moved  on  against  the  advice  of  some  of 
his  best  officers,  and  formed  a  junction  with  Caswell  and 
the  North  Carolina  militia,  who  were  so  ill-organized 
and  badly  disciplined  that  Colonel  Williams,  of  Mary 
land,  actually  rode  through  their  lines  without  being 
challenged.  With  these  dangerous  reinforcements  Gates 
marched  on  cheerfully  toward  the  British,  who,  under 
the  command  of  Lord  Ravvdon,  an  active  and  enterpris 
ing  officer,  had  called  in  their  outlying  parties  and 
taken  up  a  strong  position  on  Lynch's  Creek.  Instead 
of  marching  up  the  creek,  turning  Lord  Rawdon's  flank, 
and  then  moving  on  Camden,  which  under  these  con 
ditions  would  probably  have  fallen  an  easy  prey,  Gates 
lingered  about  for  two  days,  doing  no  one  knows  what, 
and  then,  bending  to  the  right,  took  the  road  from  Char 
lotte  and  advanced  to  Clermont,  where  he  was  joined 
on  August  1 4th  by  Colonel  Stevens  with  seven  hundred 
Virginia  militia.  The  same  day  Sumter  came  into  camp 
with  four  hundred  men,  and  asked  for  as  many  more,  in 
order  that  he  might  cut  off  the  British  baggage-train  and 


3;6  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

convoy.  It  seems  almost  beyond  belief,  but  Gates  granted 
this  request,  and  deliberately  allowed  the  best  fighter  in  the 
South  to  leave  his  army  with  eight  hundred  men  when  he 
was  on  the  eve  of  battle,  in  the  presence  of  a  strong,  well- 
disciplined,  well-commanded  enemy,  and  when  his  own 
forces  were  largely  composed  of  raw  militia,  who,  unlike 
Sumter's  men,  had  never  been  under  fire.  Even  more 
incredible  than  the  fact  is  the  explanation.  Gates  actu 
ally  did  not  know  how  many  men  he  had  under  his  com 
mand.  He  thought  he  had  seven  thousand,  and,  finding 
that  he  had  but  three  thousand  and  fifty-two,  he  coolly 
said,  "That  will  be  enough  for  our  purpose."  The  Eng 
lish  spies,  who  seemed  to  have  had  the  run  of  his  camp, 
no  doubt  made  a  more  accurate  and  earlier  count  than 
that  of  the  American  General. 

While  Gates  was  thus  weakening  himself  in  the  face 
of  the  enemy,  Cornwallis  arrived  in  the  British  camp  and 
determined  to  surprise  the  Americans.  With  this  purpose 
he  started  on  the  morning  of  August  i5th,  and  Gates, 
who  had  set  forth  at  the  same  hour,  blundered  into  the 
arms  of  the  advancing  British,  not  having  apparently  the 
slightest  idea  where  his  enemies  were  or  what  they  were 
doing.  Colonel  Armand,  a  French  officer,  was  in  front 
with  a  small  body  of  cavalry,  and  gave  way  before  the 
British  advance.  Gates,  on  learning  that  he  was  in  the 
presence  of  the  enemy,  determined,  after  a  hasty  con 
ference  with  his  officers,  to  fight.  His  position  was  a  bad 
one,  for  although  his  flanks  were  protected  by  a  marsh, 
this  narrowed  his  front  and  gave  advantage  to  the  smaller 
but  compact,  well-led,  and  well-disciplined  force  of  the 
British.  When  it  was  seen  that  the  enemy  was  forming 
to  advance,  Stevens  was  ordered  to  charge  with  the  Vir- 


THE  SOUTH   RISES  IN   DEFENCE  377 

ginia  militia,  utterly  raw  troops,  who  had  only  joined  the 
army  the  day  before.  Cornwallis,  to  meet  them  immedi 
ately,  threw  forward  his  right  wing,  consisting  of  his  best 
troops  under  Webster.  The  Virginians  gave  way  at  once 
without  firing,  dropped  their  guns,  and  fled  in  a  wild  panic. 
The  next  line,  consisting  of  the  equally  raw  North  Caro 
lina  militia,  followed  the  example  of  the  Virginians  with 
out  a  moment's  hesitation,  except  for  one  regiment,  which 
fired  a  few  rounds.  This  left  only  the  Continental  troops, 
the  regular  soldiers  of  the  Maryland  and  Delaware  line, 
under  DeKalb,  to  meet  the  whole  British  army.  These 
men  stood  their  ground  so  stubbornly  and  successfully 
that  DeKalb,  not  realizing  fully  the  utter  disaster  on  the 
left  wing,  ordered  a  charge,  and  drove  the  British  back. 
No  men  could  have  fought  better  than  these  soldiers  of 
Washington's  army  in  the  face  of  disaster.  Eight  hun 
dred  of  them  fell  on  the  field,  and  DeKalb,  wounded 
eleven  times,  died  a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  British. 
But  they  were  fighting  against  hopeless  odds  ;  they  were 
outnumbered  and  outflanked,  and,  after  rallying  twice  gal 
lantly  in  the  midst  of  their  enemies,  they  finally  broke  and 
retreated. 

To  defeat  these  Continental  soldiers  cost  Cornwallis 
nearly  four  hundred  men — a  severe  loss  to  an  army  no  larger 
than  his,  and  one  he  could  ill  afford.  The  American  army, 
however,  was  utterly  broken  and  dispersed.  Colonel  Will 
iams  said  that  DeKalb's  fate  was  "  probably  avoided  by 
the  other  Generals  only  by  an  opportune  retreat,"  which 
was  a  euphemistic  way  of  stating  that  Gates  went  off  with 
the  militia  and  that  very  night  reached  Charlotte,  sixty 
miles  away,  which  was  a  highly  creditable  feat  of  hard  rid 
ing.  He  was  closely  followed  by  Caswell,  the  North  Car- 


3/8  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

olina  Commander,  and  others,  and  the  next  day,  still  rest 
less  apparently,  he  betook  himself  to  Hillsborough,  where 
the  North  Carolina  Legislature  was  in  session,  for  he  al 
ways  seems  to  have  been  more  at  home  with  congresses 
and  legislatures  than  with  armies.  Either  an  abounding 
charity  or  a  love  of  paradox  has  tempted  some  recent  writ 
ers  to  say  that  Gates  has  been  too  harshly  judged,  but  it  is 
difficult  to  discover  any  error  he  could  have  committed 
which  he  did  not  commit.  He  came  down  to  form  an 
army,  where  none  existed,  around  a  nucleus  of  regular 
troops,  not  to  take  command  of  one  already  organized.  He 
should  not  have  fought  until  he  had  made  his  army,  disci 
plined  it,  marched  and  manoeuvred  with  it,  and  tested  it  in 
some  small  actions.  Instead  of  doing  this  he  took  the  Con 
tinentals  and  marched  straight  for  the  main  British  army, 
picking  up  reinforcements  of  untried,  undisciplined  militia 
on  the  way.  Arriving  within  striking  distance  of  the  ene 
my,  he  actually  did  not  know  how  many  men  he  had,  and 
sent  off  eight  hundred  of  his  best  troops,  the  only  militia 
apparently  who  had  seen  fighting.  When  he  stumbled 
upon  the  enemy  he  put  his  poorest  troops  in  front,  without 
apparently  direction  or  support,  and  first  of  all  the  militia 
who  had  been  with  him  only  twenty-four  hours.  Colonel 
Stevens  of  Virginia,  a  brave  man,  said  that  the  rout  was 
due  to  the  "  damned  cowardly  behavior  of  the  militia,"  and 
as  he  commanded  one  division  of  them  he  probably  knew 
what  he  was  saying.  But  to  lay  the  fault  on  the  militia  is 
begging  the  question.  The  unsteadiness  of  perfectly  green 
troops  in  the  field  is  well  known,  and  these  men  ought  not  to 
have  been  brought  into  action  against  regulars  at  all  at  that 
moment — least  of  all  should  they  have  been  put  in  the  van  to 
resist  the  onset  of  seasoned  veterans  without  instructions 


THE  SOUTH   RISES  IN   DEFENCE  379 

or  apparent  support.  The  defeat  of  Camden  was  due  to 
bad  generalship,  and  resulted  in  the  complete  dispersion  of 
the  militia,  and  the  sacrifice  and  slaughter  of  the  hard-fight 
ing  Continentals.  Sumter  even  was  carried  down  in  the 
wreck.  He  had  cut  off  the  convoy  and  baggage  with  per 
fect  success,  but  the  victory  at  Camden  set  the  British  free 
to  pursue  him.  He  eluded  Cornwallis,  but,  encumbered 
and  delayed  by  his  prize,  he  was  overtaken  and  surprised 
by  Tarleton.  Half  his  force  was  killed,  wounded,  or  made 
prisoners  ;  the  rest  were  scattered,  and  it  is  said  that  Sum 
ter,  a  few  days  later,  rode  into  Charlotte  alone,  without  a 
saddle  and  hatless,  to  begin  all  over  again  the  work  of  form 
ing  a  regiment,  which  he  performed  as  usual  with  great 
energy  and  success. 

Cornwallis  did  not  follow  up  his  victory  very  energeti 
cally,  but  there  was  really  little  need  to  do  so.  It  was  the 
darkest  hour  of  the  Revolution  in  the  South,  which  now 
lay  well-nigh  helpless  and  quite  open  to  the  enemy.  A 
second  army  had  been  swept  away,  and  again  no  organized 
American  force  held  the  field.  The  three  Southern  Col 
onies  were,  for  the  time  at  least,  conquered,  if  not  subdued, 
and  the  way  seemed  clear  for  the  British  march  upon  Vir 
ginia,  the  great  State  which  was  one  of  the  pillars  of  the 
American  cause.  Yet  it  was  just  at  this  gloomy  time  that 
the  first  grievous  disaster  came  to  the  British  arms,  from  a 
quarter  where  no  danger  was  expected,  and  where  it  seemed 
as  if  armed  men  sprang  up  from  the  earth. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

KING'S    MOUNTAIN    AND    THE   COWPENS 

BEFORE  moving  on  Virginia  it  was  deemed  desir 
able  by  the  British  Commanders  to  trample  out 
the  last  embers  of  rebellion  still  smouldering  in 
the  interior  of  the  conquered  States.  For  this  purpose 
Cruger  and  a  detachment  of  loyalists  went  after  the  Amer 
icans  under  Clarke,  who  was  attacking  Augusta.  Clarke 
was  defeated,  driven  off,  and  forced  to  take  to  the  moun 
tains,  while  the  victorious  loyalists  hung  some  thirteen 
prisoners,  a  practice  in  which  the  British  and  their  allies 
were  just  then  fond  of  indulging.  With  the  same  general 
object,  another  and  larger  force,  composed  chiefly  of  loyal 
ists,  but  with  some  regular  troops  also,  was  sent  to  sweep 
along  the  borders  of  the  Carolinas  and  complete  the  abso 
lute  reduction  of  the  country.  This  division  was  under 
the  command  of  Patrick  Ferguson,  a  son  of  Lord  Pitfour, 
a  soldier  of  twenty  years'  experience  in  Europe  and  Amer 
ica,  a  gallant  and  accomplished  officer,  and  one  of  Corn- 
wallis's  most  trusted  Lieutenants.  He  was  the  very  model 
of  a  brilliant  and  dashing  partisan  leader,  and  by  his 
winning  manners  was  especially  successful  in  encouraging 
the  loyalists,  and  in  drawing  them  out  to  enlist  under  his 
standard,  which  they  did  in  large  numbers.  He  was  less 

merciless  than  Tarleton,  for  he  did  not  massacre  prisoners 

380 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      381 

nor  permit  women  to  be  outraged  after  the  manner  of 
that  distinguished  officer,  but  he  did  a  good  deal  of  burn 
ing  and  pillaging  and  hung  rebels  occasionally.  He  was  a 
brave,  effective,  formidable  fighter,  and  the  pacification  of 
the  borders  could  not  have  been  intrusted  to  better  hands. 
Ferguson,  in  the  performance  of  his  task,  advanced  to 
the  foot  of  the  mountains,  and  sent  word  by  a  prisoner 
that  he  would  penetrate  the  hills  and  destroy  the  villages 
there  if  the  people  sent  aid  to  their  brethren  of  the  plain 
and  sea-coast.  It  was  an  ill-timed  message  and  had  results 
very  different  from  those  expected  by  the  sender.  Beyond 
the  mountains  which  Ferguson  was  skirting  with  his  army 
lay  the  frontier  settlements  of  Franklin  and  Holston,  des 
tined  to  develop  one  day  into  the  State  of  Tennessee.  The 
inhabitants  were  pioneers  and  backxvoodsmen  of  the  same 
type  as  those  who  followed  Boone  and  Logan  and  Clark 
in  Kentucky.  They  had  cleared  their  farms  in  the  wilder 
ness,  and,  while  they  drove  the  plough,  or  swung  the  axe, 
the  rifle  was  never  out  of  reach.  Like  the  men  of  Ken 
tucky,  they  had  been  doing  stubborn  battle  with  the  Ind 
ians  stirred  up  against  them  by  the  British,  and  they  had 
taken  but  little  part  in  the  general  movement  of  the  sea 
board  colonies.  Isaac  Shelby,  indeed,  had  crossed  the 
mountains  with  two  hundred  men,  in  answer  to  an  appeal 
for  help  from  the  Carolinas,  but  with  this  exception  the 
men  of  the  West  had  had  no  share  in  the  Revolution 
other  than  the  desperate  work  by  which  they  had  held 
their  own  against  the  savages.  Now  they  heard  that  Fer 
guson  was  on  the  edge  of  their  settlements,  threatening 
them  with  fire,  sword,  and  halter.  This  brought  the  war, 
in  very  grim  fashion,  to  their  own  doors,  and  as  they  were 
neither  a  timid  nor  a  peace-loving  race,  they  did  not 


382  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

wait  for  the  enemy  to  come,  but  set  out  to  meet  him. 
Shelby  heard  the  news  first,  and  rode  in  hot  haste  to  the 
home  of  Sevier,  the  other  County  Lieutenant,  to  carry  the 
tidings.  At  Sevier's  settlement  there  was  a  barbecue,  a 
horse-race,  and  much  feasting  going  on,  but  when  Shelby 
gave  his  message  the  merrymakers  all  promised  to  turn 
out.  Thence  Shelby  rode  back  to  raise  his  own  men,  and 
sent  a  messenger  to  the  Holston  Virginians,  who  had 
already  been  out  in  one  campaign,  and  were  even  now  or 
ganized  to  go  down  and  fight  Cornwallis.  At  first  they 
refused  to  change  their  plans,  but  on  a  second  and  more 
urgent  summons  they  too  agreed  to  join  their  brethren  of 
the  mountains. 

They  all  assembled  at  the  Sycamore  Shoals,  on  the 
Watauga,  on  September  25th.  Four  hundred  of  the  Vir 
ginians  came  under  William  Campbell,  500  from  the 
more  southern  settlement  under  Shelby  and  Sevier,  and 
1 60  refugees  under  McDowell,  of  North  Carolina.  The 
next  day  they  started,  after  a  stern  old  Presbyterian  min 
ister  had  prayed  and  asked  a  blessing  upon  them.  They 
gathered  in  an  open  grove,  and,  leaning  on  their  rifles, 
these  backwoodsmen  and  wild  Indian  fighters  bowed  their 
heads  and  listened  in  silence  to  the  preacher  who  blessed 
them  and  called  upon  them  to  do  battle  and  smite  the  foe 
with  the  sword  of  the  Lord  and  Gideon. 

Then  they  set  out,  a  strange-looking  army,  clad  in 
buckskin  shirts  and  fringed  leggings,  without  a  tent,  a 
bayonet  or  any  baggage,  and  with  hardly  a  sword  among 
the  officers.  But  every  man  had  a  rifle,  a  knife,  and  a 
tomahawk,  and  they  were  all  mounted  on  wiry  horses. 
Discipline  in  the  usual  military  sense  was  unknown,  and 
yet  they  were  no  ordinary  militia.  Every  man  was  a  fighter, 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      383 

bred  in  Indian  wars," who  had  passed  his  life  with  horse 
and  rifle,  encompassed  by  perils.  They  were  a  formidable 
body  of  men — hardy,  bold  to  recklessness,  and  swift  of 
movement.  They  pushed  on  rapidly  over  the  high  table 
land  covered  with  snow,  and  then  down  the  ravines  and 
gorges — rough  riding,  where  there  was  hardly  a  trail— 
until,  on  the  29th,  they  reached  the  pleasant  open  low 
lands  near  the  North  Forks  of  the  Catawba.  Here  they 
were  joined  by  more  than  three  hundred  North  Carolina 
militia,  led  by  Colonel  Cleaveland,  a  hunter  and  Indian 
fighter,  quite  the  equal  in  prowess  and  experience  of  any 
who  had  crossed  the  mountains,  and  with  a  long  list  of 
private  wrongs  to  \avenge,  for  he  had  been  in  the  thick  of 
the  civil  war  and  partisan  fighting  \vhich,  since  the  fall  of 
Charleston,  had  desolated  the  Southern  States.  On  Octo 
ber  ist  the  forces,  thus  increased,  passed  Pilot  Mountain 
and  camped  near  the  head  of  Cane  and  Silver  Creeks. 
Thus  far  they  had  proceeded,  as  they  had  gathered  to 
gether,  each  band  under  the  command  of  its^own  chief, 
but  such  an  arrangement  involved  too  much  disorder 
even  for  so  unorganized  an  army  as  this,  and  the  next  day, 
dropping  all  local  differences  and  personal  jealousies,  they 
agreed  that  Colonel  William  Campbell  should  take  com 
mand  of  the  entire  expedition.  On  October  3d  they 
started  again,  after  Shelby  had  addressed  them.  He  first 
told  any  man  to  go  who  desired  to  do  so,  and  not  one 
stirred.  Then  he  bade  them  remember  that  each  man 
must  be  his  own  officer,  'fight  for  his  own  hand,  draw  off 
if  need  be,  but  never  leave  the  field,  and  when  they  met 
the  British,  "give  them  Indian  play."  Thus  reorganized 
and  instructed  they  set  forth.  As  they  marched  they 
picked  up  small  bands  of  refugees,  and  heard  of  a  large 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

body  of  four  hundred  militia  crossing  the  country  from 
Flint  Hill  to  join  them.  They  were  near  Gilbertown  on 
the  4th,  with  their  numbers  raised  now  to  nearly  fifteen 
hundred  men.  Here  they  had  expected  to  come  up  with 
Ferguson  ;  but  the  English  leader,  who  had  good  eyes  and 
ears  and  was  well  informed,  had  moved  rapidly  away, 
doubling  and  turning,  and  meanwhile  sending  dili 
gently  in  all  directions  for  reinforcements  and  urging  the 
loyalists  everywhere  to  rally  to  his  support.  He  marched 
so  rapidly  and  with  so  much  cunning  that  he  would  easily 
have  baffled  any  regular  army,  no  matter  how  quick  in 
motion  or  how  lightly  equipped.  But  his  pursuers  were 
no  ordinary  soldiers.  They  had  passed  their  lives  in  track 
ing  game  and  in  following  or  eluding  savages,  wilder  and 
more  artful  than  any  beast  of  prey  that  roamed  their  for 
ests.  Now  they  pursued  Ferguson  as  they  would  have 
hunted  an  Indian  war-band.  They  rode  in  loose  order,  but 
followed  the  trail  with  the  keen  fidelity  of  hounds  upon  a 
burning  scent.  They  had  no  bayonets  and  no  tents,  but 
they  could  go  for  many  hours  without  sleep  or  food,  and 
minded  bad  weather  as  little  as  the  animals  they  stalked 
and  killed.  These  "  Backwater  men,"  who  had  sprung  up 
so  suddenly  from  the  wooded  hills,  were  tireless  and  deter 
mined,  and  they  meant  to  fight. 

When  they  found  that  Ferguson  was  no  longer  near 
Gilbertown,  that  many  of  their  horses  were  worn  out,  and 
that  some  of  the  militia  who  had  joined  them  on  foot  were 
weary  with  marching,  they  did  not  stop  for  rest  and  refresh 
ment,  but  picked  out  the  strongest  horses  and  the  best  men 
to  the  number  of  seven  hundred  and  fifty  and  pressed  on. 
To  their  minds  the  fact  that  Ferguson  was  retreating  meant 
simply  that  he  was  afraid,  and  they  did  not  intend  to  let 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      3^5 

him  escape.  So,  with  half  their  number,  the  strongest  and 
best  mounted,  they  hurried  on.  They  rode  hard  all  day, 
and  it  was  growing  dark  when  they  reached  the  Cowpens, 
and  were  there  joined  by  the  bands  of  militia  from  Flint 
Hill.  On  the  way  they  had  heard  of  bodies  of  loyalists, 
some  very  large,  going  to  Ferguson's  assistance,  but  they 
were  not  turned  aside  to  win  an  easy  victory  and  lose  that 
which  they  had  crossed  the  mountains  to  gain.  They  were 
a  simple-minded,  rough  folk,  and  hence  they  were  disposed 
to  have  one  idea  at  a  time,  and  cling  to  it — a  very  unfor 
tunate  propensity  for  their  enemies  at  this  precise  moment. 
So  they  heeded  not  the  loyalists  making  for  the  British 
camp,  but  made  their  final  preparations,  for  they  were  near 
at  last  to  the  object  of  their  pursuit. 

Ferguson  had  gradually  drawn  away  from  the  moun 
tains,  but  he  was  unwilling  to  leave  the  Western  loyalists 
wholly  undefended.  So  he  moved  slowly,  gathering  such 
help  as  he  could,  until  he  was  as  near  to  Cornwallis  at 
Charlotte  as  he  was  to  the  mountaineers.  Here,  on  Octo 
ber  6th,  he  established  himself  in  a  very  strong  position  on 
a  spur  of  King's  Mountain,  just  south  of  the  North  Caro 
lina  boundary.  He  fixed  his  camp  upon  a  rocky  ridge  some 
seven  hundred  yards  long,  with  steep  wooded  sides,  and 
about  sixty  feet  above  the  valley  level.  The  heavy  bag 
gage-train  was  massed  on  the  northeastern  end  of  the  ridge, 
and  the  soldiers  camped  between  that  and  the  southern  de 
clivities.  So  confident  did  Ferguson  feel  in  the  strength 
of  his  position  that  he  did  not  move  on  the  morning  of  the 
7th,  and  was  probably  quite  willing  to  receive  an  attack. 

The  "  Backwater  men,"  as  the  British  leader  had  called 
his  enemies,  started  on  the  evening  of  the  6th,  and,  through 
the  darkness  and  rain,  marched  slowly  on.  The  next  morn- 


386  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ing  the  rain  was  still  falling,  but  they  kept  on,  indifferent 
to  weather,  merely  wrapping  their  blankets  about- the  gun- 
locks.  From  two  captured  Tories  they  learned  just  where 
Ferguson  was,  from  a  Whig  friend  what  his  dispositions 
were  and  how  he  was  dressed,  which  last  little  bit  of  in 
formation  was  the  death-warrant  of  the  gallant  Scotchman 
when  he  faced  those  deadly  rifles.  Nearer  they  came  and 
nearer,  and  when  within  a  mile  of  the  mountain,  the  rain 
having  ceased,  they  dismounted,  tied  their  horses,  and  pre 
pared  for  an  assault  on  foot.  The  Colonels  made  their  last 
arrangements.  Campbell's  and  Shelby's  men  were  to  hold 
the  centre  and  to  attack  in  front.  The  left  wing  was  under 
Cleaveland,  and  was  formed  of  his  men  and  the  Flint  Hill 
militia.  The  right  wing  was  led  by  Sevier,  and  threw  out 
a  detachment  which  swung  far  around,  by  desperate  riding 
got  to  the  rear,  and  thus  cut  off  the  only  avenue  of  escape 
before  the  battle  was  over.  The  countersign  was  "  Bu- 
ford,"  the  name  of  the  leader  whose  troops  had  been  mas 
sacred  by  Tarleton  after  surrendering  at  the  VVaxhaw,  and 
the  riflemen  were  again  ordered  to  follow  their  officers,  to 
fight  each  for  himself,  to  retreat  if  necessary,  but  never  to 
run  away,  and  once  more  to  let  the  foe  have  "  Indian  play." 
The  word  of  command  was  given,  and  on  and  up  they  went. 
The  backwoodsmen  were  nearly  as  numerous  as  their  ene 
my,  but  the  British  forces  had  all  the  advantage  of  posi 
tion  ;  they  were  chiefly  loyalists,  with  some  regulars,  but 
were  all  well  disciplined,  thoroughly  drilled,  and  equipped 
with  bayonets.  Ferguson  was  alert  and  well  informed,  and 
yet  so  swift  and  silent  were  the  movements  of  these  back 
woodsmen  that  he  was  surrounded  and  found  himself  at 
tacked  almost  unawares.  Suddenly  the  steep  sides  of  the 
mountain  seemed  to  start  to  life  with  armed  men,  and  the 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      389 

flash  of  the  rifle  flared  out  from  among  the  trees,  silent  and 
dark  but  a  moment  before.  Ferguson,  however,  was  nev 
er  unprepared.  Short  as  the  warning  was,  he  got  his  men 
in  line  and,  blowing  his  silver  whistle,  with  which  he  di 
rected  the  charges,  flung  his  column  upon  Campbell's  men. 
The  riflemen  gave  way  before  the  bayonet  and  slipped 
back  down  the  hill ;  but  when  Ferguson  turned  there  were 
Shelby's  men  swarming  up  the  other  side.  Again  the 
silver  whistle  blew,  again  the  column  formed  and  charged 
down,  and  again  the  mountaineers  gave  \vay.  But  even 
while  he  flung  back  Shelby,  Campbell's  men  were  again 
coming  up,  gliding  from  tree  to  tree,  picking  off  their  foes 
with  deadly  certainty,  and  constantly  getting  nearer  the 
top.  Ferguson  rode  from  point  to  point  rallying  his  men. 
The  silver  whistle  would  blow,  the  compact,  well-disci 
plined  soldiers  would  charge,  repel  their  assailants,  and  re 
turn  to  meet  another  attack.  The  moment  the  red  line 
paused  in  the  charge  and  prepared  to  repulse  an  assault 
from  another  quarter,  the  riflemen  would  turn  and  follow 
them  up  the  slope.  So  the  fight  raged  fiercely,  the  British 
rallying  and  driving  their  foes  back  with  the  bayonet  in 
one  place  only  to  meet  them  in  another,  and  each  time  the 
wave  of  backwoodsmen  came  a  little  higher.  At  last,  as 
Sevier's  men  were  nearing  the  crest,  they  caught  full  sight 
of  the  gallant  figure  they  had  so  long  been  looking  for. 
The  rifles  rang  out,  and  Ferguson,  pierced  by  half  a  dozen 
bullets,  fell  dead  from  his  horse.  De  Peyster,  the  next  in 
command,  bravely  rallied  the  men,  but  the  end  was  near. 
The  deadly  aim  of  the  rifles  had  done  its  work.  Half  the 
British  regulars  were  killed,  and  the  rest  were  broken  and 
dispersed.  The  loyalists  and  riflemen  fought  hand  to  hand 
along  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  brother  with  brother,  kinsman 


390  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

against  kinsman.  Then  the  loyalists  broke  and  fled  to  the 
baggage-wagons,  only  to  find  that  they  were  completely 
surrounded.  Further  resistance  was  hopeless,  and  De 
Peyster  raised  the  white  flag  and  surrendered.  The  hard- 
fought  fight  was  over.  The  British  had  lost,  all  told,  in 
killed  and  disabled,  between  three  and  four  hundred,  and 
the  Americans  about  one  hundred  and  twenty.  The  re 
sistance  which  sacrificed  nearly  forty  per  cent,  of  its  force 
was  desperate,  but  the  British  overshot,  while  the  hunters 
and  Indian  fighters  made  all  their  shots  tell.  The  victory 
was  complete.  Ferguson  was  killed,  and  his  whole  force 
either  left  on  the  field  or  captured.  The  Americans  de 
parted  at  once  with  their  prisoners,  and  their  great  spoil  of 
arms  and  equipment.  They  sullied  their  victory  a  few  days 
later  by  hanging 'nine  of  their  prisoners,  in  revenge  for  the 
many  hangings  by  the  men  of  Tarleton  and  Ferguson,  and 
especially  for  the  thirteen  just  hanged  by  Cruger.  The 
officers,  however,  interfered  at  this  point  and  checked  any 
further  executions,  thirty  in  all  having  been  condemned  to 
death.  Then,  leaving  their  prisoners  with  the  lowland 
militia,  the  men  of  the  Western  waters  shouldered  their 
rifles,  took  their  spoils,  crossed  the  mountains,  and  in  due 
time  celebrated  their  victory  with  much  feasting,  shooting, 
racing,  and  eating  of  whole  roast  oxen  at  their  block 
houses  and  log-cabins  beyond  the  Alleghanies. 

Cornwallis,  appalled  by  this  sudden  disaster,  very  nat 
urally  feared  that  after  their  great  victory  the  backwoods 
men  would  pour  down  and  assail  him  on  flank  and  rear. 
His  alarm  was  needless.  The  riflemen  burst  out  of  the 
wilderness  to  hunt  down  the  man  who  threatened  their 
dearly  bought  and  hardly  defended  homes.  They  caught 
their  enemy,  killed  him,  captured  his  army,  and  then,  the 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      391 

thing  they  came  for  done,  they  disappeared  among  the 
Western  forests  as  suddenly  as  they  had  come.  They 
swept  down  from  their  hills  like  a  Highland  clan,  won  a 
complete  and  striking  victory  and  withdrew,  but  they  were 
incapable  of  doing  the  work  or  carrying  on  the  patient  labors 
and  steady  fighting  of  a  disciplined  army,  by  which  alone 
campaigns  are  won.  At  the  same  time  they  were  perfect  for 
the  particular  feat  they  actually  performed,  of  swiftly  pursu 
ing  a  hostile  force,  surrounding  it,  and  then,  without  strat 
egy  or  tactics,  by  sheer  hard  fighting  and  straight  shooting, 
win  a  victory  from  which  hardly  a  single  enemy  escaped. 
It  was  only  by  superior  fighting  that  they  won,  for  they 
were  slightly  inferior  in  numbers,  very  much  at  a  dis 
advantage  in  position,  and  without  military  discipline  or 
proper  equipment.  Yet  it  so  happened  that  the  battle 
of  King's  Mountain — won  without  any  plan  or  object 
beyond  the  immediate  destruction  of  an  invader  whom 
the  backwoodsmen  dealt  with  as  they  would  have  done 
with  a  large  Indian  war-party,  if  they  could  have  penned 
it  up  in  the  same  fashion — proved  one  of  the  decisive 
battles  of  the  Revolution.  It  turned  the  tide  of  war  in 
the  Southern  States.  From  that  time,  with  ups  and 
downs,  of  course,  the  British  fortunes  declined,  while  the 
spirits  of  the  Southern  people  rose  at  a  bound.  The 
back  country  was  freed,  for  Ferguson  and  his  men  con 
stituted  the  force  upon  which  Cornwallis  counted  to  sub 
due  the  interior  and  crush  out  all  local  risings.  That  force 
and  its  very  brave  and  efficient  commander  were  wiped 
out  of  existence.  The  British  General  had  lost  one  of 
the  most  important  parts  of  his  army,  and  his  campaign 
for  the  future  was  permanently  crippled  in  consequence. 
The  immediate  effect  was  to  check  his  movement  north- 


392 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


ward,  and  the  first  advance  through  North  Carolina  to 
Virginia  failed.  On  October  i4th  he  began  his  retreat 
from  Charlotte,  and  after  a  hard  march  of  fifteen  days, 
through  rain  and  mud  and  with  scant  food,  he  reached 
Winnsborough,  near  Camden.  All  the  way  his  men  had 


THE  BAYONET  CHARGE  BY  THE  SECOND  MARYLAND  BRIGADE  AT  THE 
BATTLE   OF  CAMDEN. 

been  attacked  and  shot  down  by  the  militia,  something 
quite  impossible  before  King's  Mountain.  Encouraged 
in  the  same  way,  Marion  had  again  taken  the  field  and 
begun  to  cut  off  outlying  British  posts.  Tarleton  went 
after  him,  burning  and  ravaging  as  he  rode,  but  Marion 
eluded  him,  and  then  he  was  forced  to  turn  back,  for 
Sumter  had  broken  out  near  Camden  and  was  intercept 
ing  supplies,  beating  loyalist  militia,  and  generally  making 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      393 

the  life  of  the  commanding  General  uncomfortable.  The 
interior  country,  in  fact,  was  slipping  from  the  British 
control,  and  even  the  position  of  their  main  army  was 
menaced.  So  Tarleton  went  after  his  old  enemy  with  his 
usual  zeal.  He  came  up  with  Sumter  at  the  Blackstock 
plantation,  did  not  stop  to  consider  either  Sumter's  posi 
tion  or  numbers,  and  dashed  at  him  with  two  hundred 
and  fifty  men.  This  time  Sumter  was  neither  surprised 
nor  encumbered  with  baggage,  and  fought  on  ground  of 
his  own  choosing.  He  repulsed  Tarleton's  charge,  and 
then  drove  back  the  infantry  with  such  severe  loss  that 
Tarleton  was  forced  to  retreat  rapidly,  leaving  his  wound 
ed  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 

The  year  closed  cheerfully  for  the  Americans.  Corn- 
wallis  had  been  forced  to  abandon  his  Northern  march 
and  retreat.  The  country  was  up  in  arms,  and  Sumter 
and  Marion  threatened  British  posts  and  communications 
in  all  directions,  while  the  victory  at  King's  Mountain 
had  destroyed  an  important  part  of  the  British  force. 
But  at  the  same  time  the  riflemen  had  disappeared  silent 
ly  and  swiftly  as  they  had  come,  and  the  only  American 
forces  were,  as  before,  scattered  bands.  It  is  true  the 
spirit  of  the  people  had  revived,  but  there  was  still  no 
army,  and  without  a  regular  army  the  British  could  not 
be  driven  from  the  South.  Twice  had  the  central  gov 
ernment  tried  to  supply  the  great  defect,  only  to  have  one 
army  captured  at  Charleston  and  another  flung  away  at 
Camden.  Now  a  third  attempt  was  to  be  made,  and  on 
it  the  fate  of  the  war  in  the  Carolinas  would  turn.  This 
time  Congress  allowed  Washington  to  choose  a  Com 
mander,  and  he  selected  Greene,  as  he  had  done  in  the 
first  instance.  He  said  that  he  sent  a  General  without  an 


394  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

army,  for,  generous  as  he  was,  he  could  now  spare  only 
three  hundred  and  fifty  men  from  the  regular  line.  But 
he  felt  that  the  Commander  was  really  the  main  thing, 
since  experience  had  shown  that  there  was  abundance  of 
material  in  the  South  for  soldiers,  and  he  knew  that  in 
this  instance  he  sent  a  man  who  not  only  could  make  an 
army,  but  who  would  not  fight  until  his  army  was  made. 

Greene,  thus  chosen  to  command,  at  once  went  to 
Philadelphia,  where  he  delivered  Washington's  letter  and 
made  his  report  to  Congress.  Then  he  examined  all 
papers  relating  to  his  new  department,  and  in  two  days 
made  another  report  to  Congress,  setting  forth  his  needs. 
It  appeared  that  he  wanted  pretty  much  everything— 
money,  men,  stores,  arms,  and  ample  authority.  Con 
gress  had  never  liked  Greene  over-much,  but  since  the 
wreck  of  their  favorite,  Gates,  they  were  in  a  chastened 
frame  of  mind,  and  with  extraordinary  promptness  they 
proceeded  to  comply  with  their  new  General's  demands. 
They  assigned  Steuben  to  the  Southern  department  ;  they 
gave  Greene  every  possible  power  and  authority,  together 
with  letters  of  recommendation  and  appeal  to  all  the  State 
legislatures.  In  the  more  important  material  things  they 
could  give  less,  because  they  had  little  to  give.  Fifteen 
hundred  stand  of  arms  was  about  the  measure  of  their 
contribution,  for  money,  men,  and  clothing  they  had  not. 
Greene,  the  indefatigable,  reached  out  in  all  directions, 
trying  to  beg  or  borrow  everywhere  money,  clothing, 
medicine,  or  anything  else.  Pennsylvania,  through  Reed, 
helped  him  to  some  wagons  to  replace  those  lost  by  Gates, 
but  he  got  little  else.  Then  Greene,  believing  that  he 
could  use  cavalry  in  the  South,  persuaded  Congress  to 
give  him  Henry  Lee,  "  Lighthorse  Harry,"  commission 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      395 

him  as  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  and  authorize  him  to  raise  a 
regiment.  All  these  things  done,  or  at  least  vigorously 
agitated,  Greene  set  forth  to  his  command.  As  he  went 
he  steadily  kept  up  the  work  he  had  begun  in  Philadel 
phia,  demanding,  urging,  praying  for  men,  money,  and 
supplies  to  be  sent  with  him  or  after  him.  He  went  with 
his  story  and  his  requests  before  the  legislatures  of  Dela 
ware  and  Maryland,  and  presented  the  letters  of  Washing 
ton  and  of  the  Congress.  He  roused  both  States,  and 
obtained  pledges  which  were  later  to  bear  fruit.  Thence 
he  pressed  on  to  Richmond,  where  he  met  Jefferson,  then 
Governor,  and  the  legislature.  The  spirit,  the  disposition 
of  all  were  excellent,  but  everything  was  in  confusion. 
Clothing  could  not  be  had,  recruits  were  coming  in  slowly, 
a  body  of  the  enemy  had  landed  in  the  southeast,  and 
there  was  an  infinity  of  work  to  be  done  before  the  great 
State  on  which  chiefly  he  would  have  to  rely  could  be 
brought  to  a  condition  where  its  resources  would  be  avail 
able.  Greene  gave  them  Steuben  to  take  charge  of  their 
military  affairs,  set  other  matters  in  such  train  as  was 
possible,  wrote  urgent  letters  to  Congress  and  to  Wash 
ington,  and  then  set  forward  again.  Now  he  began  to 
get  reports  from  the  -scene  toward  which  he  was  going- 
vague,  contradictory,  fluctuating  reports  which  troubled 
him  much,  and  seemed  to  presage  a  very  troublesome 
and  chaotic  situation  to  be  met  and  overcome.  Finally, 
on  December  2d,  he  reached  Charlotte.  Almost  his  first 
act  was  to  answer  Cornwallis's  complaint  of  the  hanging 
of  prisoners  at  King's  Mountain,  by  sending  a  list  of  fifty 
prisoners  hanged  by  order  of  the  British  Commanders,  and 
at  the  same  time  declaring  that  he  did  not  intend  to  wage 
war  in  that  fashion.  But  it  was  the  work  of  army-mak- 


396  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ing  which  chiefly  concerned  him,  not  verbal  controversies 
with  Cornwallis.  Unlike  Gates,  he  at  once  counted  his 
army  instead  of  waiting  until  the  eve  of  battle  for  that 
information,  and  the  result  was  not  inspiriting.  He  found 
that  he  had  2,300  men,  who  had  been  gathered  together 
by  Gates  since  his  defeat.  They  were  poorly  equipped 
and  badly  disciplined.  The  militia  were  in  the  habit  of 
going  home  when  the  humor  took  them,  but  Greene,  in 
his  prompt  fashion  and  with  a  painful  disregard  for  local 
customs,  declared  this  to  be  desertion,  shot  the  first  of 
fender,  and  demonstrated  that  a  new  commander  had 
really  come.  While  he  was  organizing  the  army  he  also 
examined  and  surveyed  the  rivers,  found  where  the  fords 
were,  and  then,  instead  of  plunging  headlong  at  the  ene 
my,  withdrew  to  the  fertile  meadows  of  the  Pedee  and 
there  formed  a  camp  and  proceeded  to  drill  his  troops  and 
prepare  them  for  work.  He  acted  quickly,  quietly,  and 
without  much  conversation.  "  I  call  no  councils  of  war," 
he  wrote  to  Hamilton  on  December  2Oth.  Yet,  bad  as 
was  the  condition  of  the  weak  and  broken  army,  Greene 
was  extremely  fortunate  in  his  officers.  Harry  Lee,  the 
most  brilliant  cavalry  officer  of  the  Revolution,  in  which 
cavalry  was  but  little  used,  had  come  with  him.  On  the 
spot  he  had  found  John  Eager  Howard  and  Colonel  Otho 
Williams,  of  Maryland,  and  William  Washington,  of  Vir 
ginia.  These  were  all  brave,  experienced,  dashing  of 
ficers,  just  the  men  who  would  prove  invaluable  to  Greene. 
There  was  also  another  officer,  higher  in  rank  than  any  of 
these,  who  had  come  to  Charlotte  as  soon  as  he  heard  of 
the  rout  at  Camden.  This  was  Daniel  Morgan,  of  Vir 
ginia,  an  abler  soldier  than  any  whom  Greene  found  at 
Charlotte,  and  far  more  suggestive  of  the  deeper  mean- 


to    - 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      399 

ings  of  the  American  Revolution.  Lee  and  Howard  and 
the  rest  represented  the  rich  landholders,  the  well-estab 
lished  aristocracy  of  the  Colonies.  They  had  wealth, 
position,  and  education  as  a  birthright,  in  addition  to  their 
own  courage  and  capacity.  At  them  could  not  be  flung 
the  constant  sneer  and  gibe  of  the  loyalist  satirist  and 
pamphleteer,  that  the  American  officers  were  men  of  lowly 
birth,  fishers  and  choppers  and  ploughmen.  Yet  that  at 
which  the  loyalist  and  the  Tory  sneered  was  one  of  the 
great  signs  of  the  time,  a  portent  of  the  democratic  move 
ment,  a  new  source  of  strength  in  war  and  peace.  The 
custom  of  the  world  then  was  to  give  military  power  and 
command  by  favor,  to  treat  them  as  plunder  to  be  shared 
among  a  limited  class.  Rank,  birth,  political  service,  the 
bar  sinister,  if  it  crossed  a  coat  of  arms  sufficiently  illus 
trious,  were  the  best  titles  to  high  military  command. 
England,  forgetting  whence  she  had  taken  Clive  and 
Wolfe,  had  relapsed  into  the  current  system  of  favoritism, 
and  sent  out  Howes  and  Clintons  and  Burgoynes  to  com 
mand  her  armies  in  America.  Many  men  of  this  class 
were  physically  brave — now  and  then  one,  like  Cornwallis 
or  Rawdon,  was  efficient — but  as  a  rule  they  lacked  ability, 
were  self-indulgent,  and  sometimes  cruel.  They  repre 
sented  an  old  system  now  rotten  and  broken,  and  against 
them  came  a  new  system  with  the  blood  of  youth  in  its 
veins,  for  the  democratic  movement  was  to  draw  most 
of  its  leaders  from  the  people,  whence  its  real  strength 
came.  Twenty  years  later,  that  which  was  a  little-under 
stood  fact  in  the  American  war,  had  been  formulated  into 
an  aphorism  in  the  mighty  revolution  sweeping  over  Eu 
rope,  and  men  learned  that  the  new  order  of  things  meant 
la  carriere  oiiverte  aitx  talcns,  and  that  every  private  sol- 


400  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

dier  had  perchance  a  marshal's  baton  hidden  in  his  knap 
sack. 

Of  this  class,  so  pre-eminently  children  of  their  time 
and  of  the  great  social  forces  then  stirring  into  life,  Daniel 
Morgan  was  a  most  typical  example.  Born  in  New  Jer 
sey,*  the  son  of  a  poor  Welsh  emigrant,  he  began  life  as  a 
day-laborer.  Drifting  out  to  the  frontier  he  became  a 
wagoner,  then  a  soldier  in  the  Braddock  expedition,  was 
brutally  flogged  under  the  savage  military  code  of  the  time 
for  striking  a  companion,  kept  on  in  spite  of  this  hideous 
wrong,  and  so  distinguished  himself  in  battle  that  he  was 
promoted  from  the  ranks  and  given  a  commission.  Des 
perately  wounded,  he  escaped  from  the  Indians  in  one  hot 
sjdrmish,  by  clinging  blindly  to  the  neck  of  his  frightened 
runaway  horse.  Thus  he  lived  on  the  frontier — reckless, 
fighting,  drinking,  gaming — saved  only  from  destruction 
by  his  gigantic  strength  and  hard  head.  A  fortunate  mar 
riage  turned  him  from  his  wild  life  and  brought  his  really 
fine  and  gentle  nature  uppermost.  He  settled  down  in 
Virginia,  and  although  he  fought  in  Pontiac's  and  Lord 
Dunmore's  wars,  he  became  a  steady,  hardworking  planter. 
When  the  Revolution  came  only  one  side  was  possible  to 
such  a  man — he  was  the  friend  of  Washington,  the  way 
was  open  to  ability,  and  his  time  had  come.  With  his 
riflemen  raised  in  Virginia  he  had  distinguished  himself  in 
almost  every  action  from  Boston  to  Monmouth,  and  had 
been  taken  prisoner  in  the  desperate  night  assault  at  Que 
bec.  He  had  been  especially  conspicuous  in  the  Burgoyne 
campaign,  playing  a  very  large  part  in  all  the  fighting  which 

*  Morgan's  birthplace  is  disputed.  A  strong  claim  has  been  made  that  he  was 
born  in  Bucks  County,  Pa.  The  statement  in  the  text  is  that  generally  accepted,  and 
has  the  support  of  Grahame,  Morgan's  biographer. 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      401 

culminated  in  the  surrender  of  Saratoga,  where  the  British 
commander  told  him  that  he  commanded  "  the  finest  regi 
ment  in  the  world."  Congress  did  not,  however,  seem  im 
pressed  in  the  same  way.  In  the  promotions  so  lavishly 
given  to  foreigners  and  favorites,  Morgan  was  passed  over, 
and  at  last  withdrew  in  disgust  to  his  home  in  Virginia.  But 
when  he  heard  of  the  defeat  at  Camden  he  at  once  said 
that  this  was  no  time  for  personal  feelings  or  resentments, 
and  went  directly  to  Hillsborough  to  join  the  defeated 
Gates.  Then,  at  last,  Congress  gave  him  his  tardy  promo 
tion  to  the  rank  of  Brigadier-General,  and  when  Greene 
arrived  he  found  Morgan  already  at  work.  With  excellent 
judgment  Greene  confirmed  Morgan  in  his  separate  com 
mand,  and  the  latter,  threatening  Cornwallis's  flank,  crossed 
the  Catawba  and,  picking  up  some  small  additional  bodies 
of  militia,  moved  along  the  Pacolet  River,  where  he  cut 
off  and  defeated  with  heavy  loss  a  large  body  of  loyalists 
who  were  ravaging  that  country.  His  operations  and  his 
position  alike  threatened  the  British  seriously,  and  Corn- 
wallis  could  not  advance  into  North  Carolina  or  against 
Greene  until  he  had  disposed  of  Morgan's  division.  He 
therefore  detached  Tarleton  with  the  light  infantry  and 
some  cavalry — eleven  hundred  men  in  all — to  follow  Mor 
gan,  while  he  moved  in  such  a  way  himself  as  to  cut  Mor 
gan  off  if  he  attempted  to  retreat  to  North  Carolina. 

Tarleton  moved  rapidly,  and  Morgan  fell  back  before 
him,  until,  on  January  i6th,  he  reached  the  Cowpens,  where 
cattle  were  rounded  up  and  branded,  a  place  about  midway 
between  Spartanburg  and  the  Cherokee  ford  of  the  Broad 
River.  Morgan,  brought  up  in  the  school  of  Washington, 
and  having  a  perfect  understanding  of  the  situation  in  the 
South,  wished  just  then,  as  much  as  Greene,  to  avoid  a 


402  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

decisive  action.  At  the  same  time,  as  he  wrote  his  chief, 
this  course  might  not  be  always  possible,  and  he  knew  that 
he  was  in  a  position  at  once  difficult  and  dangerous.  Well 
informed  by  his  scouts,  he  was  aware  that  he  was  between 
two  armies,  and  when  he  reached  the  Cowpens  he  deter 
mined  to  stand  his  ground  and  fight,  although  some  of  his 
officers  recommended  otherwise.  In  the  evening  he  walked 
about  among  the  camp-fires  talking  to  the  militia,  who 
were  of  the  same  class  from  which  he  himself  had  sprung. 
He  told  them  that  he  was  going  to  fight,  took  them  into 
his  confidence,  assured  them  that  "the  old  wagoner  would 
crack  his  whip  over  Tarleton,"  and  that  if  they  gave  three 
fires  they  would  surely  win.  The  next  morning  he  had  his 
men  roused  early,  so  that  they  could  breakfast  well,  and 
then  he  formed  them  for  battle.  His  main  line  was  com 
posed  of  the  Maryland  Continental  troops  in  the  centre, 
with  the  Virginia  riflemen  on  each  flank.  In  front  he 
placed  the  militia  under  Pickens,  and  in  the  rear,  out  of 
sight,  Colonel  Washington  and  the  cavalry.  Then  Mor 
gan  rode  up  and  down  the  line,  and  told  the  militia  to  give 
the  enemy  two  killing  fires  and  fall  back.  He  explained 
to  the  Continentals  that  the  militia  would  retire  after  de 
livering  these  volleys,  that  they  must  stand  firm  in  the  cen 
tre,  and,  placed  as  they  were  on  rising  ground,  fire  low. 

As  soon  as  Tarleton  came  in  sight  of  the  American 
army  thus  posted  and  drawn  up,  he  raced  at  them,  hardly 
waiting  to  form  his  line  or  to  allow  his  reserve  to  come 
up.  It  was  Tarleton's  way,  and  had  proved  very  pleasant 
and  successful  on  several  occasions  in  dealing  with  raw 
militia.  But  here  he  was  face  to  face  with  an  experienced 
soldier,  and  with  an  army  resting  on  a  body  of  tried  vet 
erans  in  the  centre.  As  he  advanced,  the  militia,  under 


THE    COMBAT  BETWEEN  COLONELS    WASHINGTON  AND    TARLETON  AT  THE 
BATTLE    OF   THE    COW  PENS. 


KING'S  MOUNTAIN  AND  THE  COWPENS      405 

Pickens,  delivered  two  or  three  well-aimed  and  destructive 
volleys,  and  then  gave  ground  and  fell  back,  as  they  had 
been  told,  but  without  disorder,  round  the  wings  of  How 
ard  and  the  Marylanders,  who  held  the  centre.  The  main 
line  in  turn  poured  in  such  a  heavy  and  well-sustained  fire 
that  the  British  hesitated,  and  Tarleton,  calling  for  his  re 
serves,  flung  himself  upon  Howard's  men.  Howard,  see 
ing  that  his  flank  was  being  turned,  ordered  the  right  com 
pany  to  face  about.  The  order  was  misunderstood,  and 
the  whole  line  faced  about  and  began  to  retreat.  This 
blunder  was  turned  into  the  stroke  of  victory  by  Morgan's 
quickness.  Pickens  and  his  militia  had  reformed,  and  were 
assailing  the  British  right  wing,  while  Colonel  Washington, 
charging  suddenly  and  breaking  the  right  wing,  got  to  the 
rear  of  the  enemy,  and  saw  them  rushing  forward  pell-mell 
after  Howard's  retreating  line.  "  They  are  coming  on  like 
a  mob,"  he  sent  word  to  Morgan.  "  Give  them  a  fire  and 
I  will  charge  them."  Suddenly,  at  the  command,  the  steady 
Continental  troops  halted,  faced  about,  poured  in  a  heavy 
and  deadly  fire,  and  followed  it  with  a  bayonet  charge  upon 
the  disordered  British  line.  At  the  same  moment  Wash 
ington  dashed  in  upon  them  in  the  rear.  All  was  now 
over  in  a  few  minutes.  The  rout  was  utter  and  complete, 
and  the  British  infantry,  outflanked  and  surrounded,  threw 
away  their  arms  and  began  to  cry  for  the  quarter  which 
they  had  refused  to  Buford's  men,  but  which  was  here  ac 
corded  to  them.  Six  hundred  of  Tarleton's  eleven  hun 
dred  were  captured.  Ten  officers  and  over  a  hundred  men 
were  killed,  showing  the  gallantry  with  which  they  fought 
until  taken  between  two  fires,  while  Tarleton  himself,  by 
personal  prowess  and  hard  riding,  barely  escaped.  All  the 
cannon,  arms,  equipage,  everything  fell  into  the  hands  of 


406  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  Americans,  who  on  their  side  lost  only  twelve  killed 
and  sixty  \vounded. 

The  numbers  engaged  at  the  Cowpens  were  small,  only 
eight  hundred  Americans  and  about  eleven  hundred  British, 
but  it  was  one  of  the  best-fought  actions  of  the  war.  Mor 
gan,  no  doubt,  took  a  serious  risk  in  fighting  with  the 
Broad  River  in  his  rear  and  with  no  protection  to  his  flanks, 
but  he  knew  his  men,  he  did  not  intend  that  they  should 
have  any  temptation  to  retreat,  and  he  had  confidence  in 
them  and  in  himself.  Tarleton,  no  doubt,  was  rash  in  the 
extreme  and  blundered  in  his  hasty  advance,  but  he  was 
one  of  the  best  of  the  British  officers,  and  his  error  arose, 
as  the  British  errors  usually  did,  from  contempt  for  his  op 
ponent.  Yet,  after  all  allowances  for  Tarleton's  mistakes,^ 
the  fact  remains  that  Morgan's  tactics  were  admirable,  and 
he  handled  his  men,  who  behaved  with  the  utmost  steadi 
ness,  so  perfectly  that  he  turned  a  blunder  in  an  important 
order  into  a  decisive  opportunity  for  immediate  victory. 
How  well  he  fought  his  battle  is  best  shown  by  the  fact 
that  he  not  only  defeated  his  enemy,  but  utterly  destroyed 
him.  Moreover,  his  coolness  and  judgment,  so  excellent 
before  the  fight  and  in  the  heat  of  action,  were  not  affected 
by  his  victory.  He  crossed  the  Broad  River  that  very 
night,  and  when  C®r»\vallis,  stung  by  the  defeat  of  Tarle 
ton,  rushed  after  Morgan,  actually  burning  his  baggage 
that  he  might  move  the  faster,  he  reached  the  Little  Ca- 
tawba  only  to  learn  that  the  victorious  Americans  had 
crossed  with  their  prisoners  two  days  before  and  were  on 
the  way  to  join  Greene's  army. 

The  victory  at  the  Cowpens  was  a  fit  supplement  to 
that  at  King's  Mountain.  In  the  latter  fight  the  back 
woodsmen  had  sprung  out  of  their  hills  in  defence  of  their 


1 


v1 


K 


^ 


408  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

homes  and  swept  away  the  strong  corps  to  which  Corn- 
wallis  trusted  for  scouts,  outpost  work,  and  the  conquest 
of  the  interior.  In  the  former  a  regular  army,  com 
manded  by  one  of  Washington's  Generals,  had  utterly 
defeated  a  select  body  of  British  troops,  and  crushed 
out  of  existence  the  light  infantry  which  Cornwallis  had 
used  so  effectively,  and  which  he  was  to  need  so  much  in 
the  future.  There  was  much  hard  fighting  still  to  do,  but 
the  days  of  panic  and  submission  were  over.  The  question 
had  ceased  to  be  how  much  the  British  would  overrun  and 
conquer,  and  had  become  the  very  different  one  of  how 
long  they  could  hold  their  ground,  and  how  soon  the  Amer 
icans,  represented  at  last  by  a  regular  army  and  an  able 
General,  could  drive  them  out.  The  first  chapter  in  the 
British  invasion  of  the  South,  England's  last  and  most 
effective  attempt  to  conquer  her  colonies,  closed  at  Charles 
ton  with  the  loss  of  Lincoln's  army  and  the  utter  prostra 
tion  of  the  American  cause  in  that  region.  The  second 
chapter  began  with  Camden  and  ended  with  King's  Moun 
tain  and  the  Cowpens.  After  Morgan's  victory  a  new 
campaign  opened  in  the  South. 


CHAPTER   XVIL. 

GREENE'S   CAMPAIGN   IN   THE  SOUTH 

TO  tell  within  moderate  limits  the  story  of  Greene's 
campaign  in  the  South  is  not  easy.  The  subject 
is  one  which  deserves  to  be  studied  in  the  mi 
nutest  details,  and  success  was  achieved  not  by  a  single 
brilliant  stroke,  but  through  a  long  series  of  movements 
made  under  trying  difficulties,  and  with  many  checks, 
finally  culminating  in  the  complete  result  which  had  been 
striven  for  so  long  and  so  patiently.  It  was  a  campaign 
which  began  with  the  formation  of  an  army  from  very  raw 
material,  and  under  almost  impossible  conditions.  It  in 
cluded  three  pitched  battles,  many  lesser  actions,  dexter 
ous  retreats,  masterly  manoeuvres,  and  the  solution  of  the 
immediate  problem  without  ever  failing  in  the  long  look 
ahead  to  the  ultimate  purpose,  or  in  the  grasp  of  the  many 
phases  of  a  conflict  which  was  carried  on  not  only  by  the 
main  army,  but  by  detached  forces  over  a  wide  extent 
of  country.  That  Greene  proved  himself  fully  equal  to 
this  difficult  task,  from  which  he  at  last  emerged  victori 
ous,  demonstrates  his  high  ability,  both  as  a  soldier  and 
administrator,  and  gives  him  a  place  in  the  purely  military 
history  of  the  Revolution  second  only  to  that  of  Wash 
ington.  No  correct  judgment,  either  of  the  man  or  of  his 

achievement,  can  be  formed  from  any  single  incident,  or 

409 


410          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

even  from  the  most  important  battles  of  his  campaign. 
What  he  was  and  what  he  did  can  be  appreciated  only  by 
a  survey  which  comprehends  all  his  labors.  Thus  alone 
can  we  see  how  ably,  patiently,  and  brilliantly  he  worked 
on  steadily  toward  his  great  objective  point,  how  he  thrust 
himself  between  the  divided  British  forces,  and  then  leav 
ing  Cornwallis  to  go  to  his  fate  in  Virginia,  how  he  held 
grimly  to  his  purpose,  and  unrelentingly  pressed  his 
enemy  to  the  South,  until  he  had  driven  the  English 
armies  from  the  States  which  at  the  outset  they  had  over 
run  so  easily. 

He  was  engaged  in  the  most  preliminary  work  of 
making  his  army,  when  the  division  under  Morgan  met 
Tarleton  and  won  the  striking  victory  of  the  Cowpens.  It 
was  an  inspiriting  and  unlooked-for  piece  of  good  fortune 
to  win  such  a  fight,  and  win  it  so  completely  at  the  very 
start  of  the  campaign,  when  neither  Greene  nor  Morgan 
desired  to  run  the  risk  of  a  decisive  action.  It  was  also 
a  heavy  blow  to  the  enemy.  But  although  Greene  well 
knew  the  importance  and  meaning  of  what  had  been  done, 
his  head  was  not  turned  by  the  success,  and  he  was  well 
aware  that  he  was  as  little  able  to  fight  Cornwallis  with 
his  own  army  as  he  had  been  before  the  rout  of  Tarleton. 

When  the  news  of  Morgan's  victory  reached  the  camp 
on  the  Pedee,  nearly  a  week  after  the  event,  Greene's  first 
feeling  was  one  of  great  joy,  and  his  second,  one  of  deep 
anxiety,  for  his  army  was  divided  and  the  enemy  were  be 
tween  him  and  Morgan.  The  situation  was  full  of  dan 
ger,  and  the  fate  of  the  campaign  at  that  critical  moment 
turned  on  the  escape  of  the  victors  of  the  Cowpens. 
Sending  expresses  in  all  directions  to  call  out  the  militia, 
even  while  the  exultant  shouts  of  his  soldiers  filled  the  air 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH        411 

outside  his  tent,  making  rapid  arrangements  to  have  the 
prisoners  taken  to  the  North,  ordering  boats  to  be  pre 
pared  for  the  crossing  of  the 
Yadkin,  and  even  of  the  Dan, 
he  put  his  army  under  the 
command  of  Huger,  with 
directions  to  meet  him  at 
Salisbury,  and  then  started 
himself  to  join  Morgan.  He 
went  alone,  accompanied 
only  by  an  orderly  sergeant, 
and  rode  night  and  day  for  a 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  in 
bad  weather  and  through  a 
country  infested  by  loyalists, 
for  he  knew  that  Morgan's  GENERAL  DANIEL  MORGAN. 

From  the  portrait  by  Charles  Willson  Peale,  jjg^ 

army   was    the    important 

point,  and  he  counted  no  risk  in  the  one  fixed  deter 
mination  to  reach  it.  Morgan  himself  had  shown  equal 
wisdom.  He  had  retreated  as  promptly  and  decisively 
as  he  had  fought,  and  Cornwallis,  on  his  arrival  at  Ram- 
sour's  Mills,  found  that  his  active  foe  had  already  crossed 
the  river  and  escaped.  When  Greene  learned  that  Corn 
wallis,  in  the  eagerness  of  pursuit  and  the  desire  for  re 
venge,  had  burned  his  baggage,  he  saw  at  once  that  his 
opponent  had  committed  a  capital  mistake  in  not  only 
missing  his  prey,  but  in  crippling  himself  for  an  extended 
movement,  and  he  exclaimed,  when  the  news  was  brought 
to  him,  "  Then  he  is  ours."  At  that  moment  he  hoped,  if 
the  waters  of  the  Catawba  did  not  fall,  to  check  Corn 
wallis  in  crossing  and  force  him  back  to  the  Santee.  Un 
fortunately,  after  the  manner  of  those  rivers,  the  Catawba 


412  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

fell  suddenly  and  Morgan  was  ordered  to  press  on  to  the 
Yadkin,  while  Greene  himself  tried  to  collect  the  militia. 
Some  eight  hundred  of  them,  under  Davidson,  attacked 
the  enemy  when  they  began  to  cross  at  McGowan's  ford, 
and  came  very  near  inflicting  a  serious  blow.  But  the 
British,  breasting  the  stream  with  great  gallantry,  and  not 
without  serious  losses,  forced  the  passage,  and,  Davidson 
being  killed,  the  militia  rapidly  dispersed.  Only  a  third  of 
them,  indeed,  remained  together,  and  these  were  driven  to 
rapid  retreat  the  next  morning  by  Tarleton.  With  the 
road  thus  cleared,  Cornwallis  hurried  on  to  the  Yadkin, 
where  Greene's  admirable  foresight  at  once  became  ap 
parent.  The  boats  he  had  ordered  were  ready,  and  Mor 
gan's  whole  army  crossed  easily  and  rapidly,  his  rear  hav 
ing  a  sharp  skirmish  with  the  British  van,  but  getting 
safely  over  with  only  the  loss  of  two  or  three  wagons. 
The  river  was  high  and  was  running  full  and  swift  between 
the  armies.  Cornwallis  had  been  energetic,  but  he  had 
no  boats.  He  was  therefore  helpless  and  could  only 
soothe  his  feelings  by  a  heavy  cannonade,  quite  harmless 
to  the  Americans,  wTho  regarded  him  in  safety  from  the 
opposite  bank.^, 

Greene,  who  had  changed  the  place  of  meeting  from 
Salisbury  to  Guilford,  as  he  had  been  compelled  to  do  by 
events,  reached  the  latter  point  with  Morgan  on  February 
8th,  and  on  the  gth  the  main  army,  under  Huger,  came 
up.  Thus  the  first  object  had  been  attained.  The  Cow- 
pens  had  been  won,  the  prisoners  brought  off,  and  the  junc 
tion  effected  so  that  Greene's  army  was  no  longer  divided. 
This  in  itself  was  a  feat,  and  a  solid  gain  obtained  in  the 
face  of  great  obstacles  and  through  many  dangers.  But 
the  great  peril  yet  remained,  for  the  united  army  was  still 


THE  FIELD   OF  GREENE'S   OPERATIONS  IN  THE  SOUTH. 


4i4  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

in  a  most  hazardous  position,  as  Morgan's  division  had  been 
before.  Greene  who,  like  all  other  able  commanders,  had 
carefully  studied  the  character  and  habits  of  his  adversary, 
hoped  that  Cornwallis's  eagerness  and  zeal  would  lead  him 
into  a  position  where  he  could  be  attacked  successfully.  So 
when  he  heard  that  Cornwallis,  baffled  at  the  Yadkin,  and 
informed  that  the  Americans  had  no  boats,  had  determined 
to  cut  them  off  at  the  fords  of  the  Dan,  he  thought  that  there 
would  be  an  opportunity  to  fight.  But  now  there  came  upon 
him  the  ever-returning  curse  of  short  enlistments  and  of  de 
pendence  on  uncertain  and  unstable  militia  to  shatter  all  his 
schemes  and  hopes.  He  could  get  no  fresh  recruits,  could 
hardly  indeed  hold  those  he  already  had,  and  so  found  him 
self  with  only  a.  little  over  two  thousand  men  with  whom  to 
face  a  superior  British  force.  To  retreat  toward  Virginia, 
where  Arnold  was  now  ravaging  and  plundering  with  a 
strong  body  of  troops,  was  dangerous  in  a  military  sense, 
and  most  undesirable  in  every  other  way  because  of  its  effect 
upon  public  opinion  and  the  spirit  of  the  people  on  which 
so  much  turned.  But  Greene  did  not  hesitate.  He  had 
said  that  the  one  thing  for  which  Cornwallis  ought  to  make 
every  sacrifice  was  the  destruction  of  the  American  army, 
and  his  single  determination  was  that  his  army  should  not 
be  destroyed,  for  it  carried  in  its  hands  the  fate  of  the  war 
in  the  South.  To  this  one  object  everything  else  must 
yield.  He  not  only  did  not  throw  himself  upon  the  Brit 
ish,  after  the  fashion  of  Gates,  but  he  prepared  for  his  re 
treat  as  carefully  and  methodically  as  he  would  have  done 
for  a  battle.  To  Sumter,  recovered  from  his  wound,  went 
word  to  call  out  the  militia  of  South  Carolina ;  to  Marion 
to  cross  the  Santee ;  to  Pickens  to  follow  up  the  rear  of 
the  enemy.  The  heavy  baggage  was  sent  to  a  place  of 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH         415 

safety,  urgent  letters  were  dispatched  to  the  Governors  of 
North  and  South  Carolina,  and  then  Greene,  on  February 
loth,  started  for  the  fords  of  the  Dan,  with  the  British 
close  on  his  heels.  He  had  only  seventy  miles  to  go,  but 
the  roads  were  deep  in  mud,  well  nigh  impassable.  His 
means  of  transportation  were  bad,  his  men  wretchedly 
clothed,  and  in  a  large  measure  barefooted.  Quick  march 
ing  was  impossible,  and  the  enemy,  well  equipped  and  pro 
vided,  were  in  hot  haste  after  him.  He  had  in  his  favor 
good  officers,  his  own  clear  brains  and  indomitable  courage, 
and  the  confidence  and  love  of  his  men.  "  How  you  must 
suffer  from  cold,"  said  Greene  to  the  barefooted  sentry. 
"  I  do  not  complain,"  came  the  answer.  "  I  know  I  should 
fare  well  if  our  General  could  procure  supplies;  and  if,  as 
they  say,  we  fight  in  a  few  days,  I  shall  take  care  to  secure 
some  shoes."  This  little  story  brings  out  general  and 
army  in  a  clear  light,  and  we  see  the  sympathy  and  the 
knowledge  of  the  one,  and  the  faith  and  courage  of  the 
other — qualities  by  which  victories  in  war  are  often  wrung 
from  adversity. 

To  delay  the  enemy,  Greene  detached  seven  hundred 
of  his  best  men,  cavalry  and  infantry,  under  Colonel  Will 
iams.  They  were  to  mislead,  to  retard,  but  to  avoid  all 
serious  action.  Well  did  they  do  their  work.  For  three 
days  the  two  armies  pressed  on,  one  in  hot  chase  of  the 
other.  The  main  American  army  struggled  forward 
through  mud  and  water,  marking  their  road,  as  Greene 
wrote  to  Washington,  with  blood-stained  tracks.  On  the 
third  day  most  of  the  North  Carolina  militia  deserted,  but 
the  regulars  and  the  rest  of  the  militia  moved  steadily  for 
ward,  suffering  in  grim  silence.  Meantime  the  flower  of 
the  army  under  Williams  hung  on  the  flank  of  Cornwallis, 


416  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

embarrassing  him  at  every  stream  and  every  defile,  and 
leading  him  off  on  the  road  to  the  wrong  ford.  It  was 
hard  to  keep  the  men  in  hand,  and  to  avoid  a  serious  fight, 
especially  on  the  third  day  when  Harry  Lee's  cavalry  had 
a  sharp  brush  with  Tarleton's  men  in  which  the  English 
lost  eighteen  men  and  the  Americans  two.  The  days  of 
the  easy  slaughtering  of  the  militia  were  drawing  to  a 
close,  and  Tarleton  had  been  given  a  lesson,  which  it  was 
a  sore  temptation  to  his  teachers  to  continue.  But  Will 
iams,  with  great  self-control,  drew  off  his  men,  and  despite 
all  his  efforts,  Cornwallis  at  last  discovered  that  he  was 
being  misled,  and  turned  back  once  more  into  the  right 
road.  When  night  fell,  Williams  and  his  men,  with  inde 
scribable  alarm,  saw  lights  ahead,  and  breathed  freely  only 
when  they  found  that  it  was  Greene's  deserted  camp  of  the 
day  before.  Cornwallis,  after  a  brief  halt,  started  again  at 
midnight,  and  pressed  on  through  forest  and  over  streams, 
WTilliams  still  hanging  stubbornly  on  his  flank.  In  the 
morning  came  a  messenger  from  Greene  that  the  wagons 
were  over,  and  that  the  troops  were  crossing,  whereupon  all 
Williams's  men  broke  into  a  loud  cheer,  heard  with  much 
misgiving  in  the  British  camp,  where  they  had  felt  sure  of 
their  prey.  Still  Cornwallis  pressed  forward  faster  than 
ever,  and  in  the  late  afternoon  came  another  message  to 
Williams  that  all  the  American  army  was  over,  the  men 
posted  and  waiting  for  the  gallant  light  troops  who  had 
made  their  escape  possible.  Thereupon  Williams  at  once 
stopped  his  attacks,  spurred  forward  at  full  speed,  and  he 
and  all  his  men  rapidly  crossed,  while  Cornwallis  came  up 
close  behind  only  to  look  at  the  deep  and  rapid  river  which 
flowed  between  him  and  his  foe.  It  appeared  after  all  that 
the  Americans  had  boats,  and,  more  than  this,  that  Greene 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH        417 

had  sent  Kosciusko  ahead  to  the  ford  to  prepare  earth 
works  on  the  other  side.  Evidently  this  general  was  very 
different  from  the  easy  victim  of  Camden.  It  was  clear 
that  he  knew  just  what  he  meant  to  do  and  was  neither  to 
be  caught  nor  fought  \vith  at  pleasure.  Hence  much  nat 
ural  perplexity  to  his  opponent.  Crossing  the  river  was 
out  of  the  question.  The  attempt  would  have  been  mad 
ness,  and  could  have  resulted  only  in  disaster,  so  Cornwal- 
lis,  feeling  now  the  loss  of  his  baggage,  sullenly  withdrew 
to  Hillsborough.  He  gave  out  that  he  had  driven  the 
Americans  beyond  the  Dan,  which  was  true,  but  he  omitted 
to  state  that  he  had  utterly  failed  to  reach  them  or  to  bring 
on  an  action.  By  this  masterly  retreat,  with  every  contin 
gency  accurately  and  punctually  provided  for,  Greene  had 
won  his  first  victory,  for  not  only  had  he  baffled  his  enemy 
and  defeated  his  purpose,  but  he  had  his  own  army  in  ex 
istence  and  in  the  field,  cheered  and  inspirited  by  their  suc 
cess.  He  also  had  the  country  around  Cornwallis  and  to 
the  southward  flaming  out  again  into  armed  resistance,  and 
even  while  the  loyalists  were  crowding  into  Hillsborough 
to  rejoice  in  the  presence  of  the  royal  army,  news  came 
that  the  American  army  was  again  south  of  the  Dan. 
Suddenly,  as  the  tidings  spread,  the  eager  crowd  faded 
away,  loyalty  cooled,  recruits  ceased  to  appear,  and  Corn 
wallis  wrote,  "  I  am  amongst  timid  friends  and  adjoining 
to  inveterate  rebels."  The  results  of  the  retreat  over  the 
Dan  were  beginning  to  appear  at  once,  for  a  victory  is 
sometimes  won  in  other  ways  than  on  the  field  of  battle. 

Greene,  when  he  began  to  retrace  his  steps,  sent  Lee 
and  Pickens  forward  and  followed  himself  with  the  main 
army,  for  he  was  determined  that  there  should  be  no  loyal 
ist  rising  and  no  reinforcements  for  the  British  if  he  could 


418  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

help  it.  His  detachments  under  Williams,  Lee,  and  Pickens 
hung  about  the  British  army  and  swooped  down  on  com 
munications  and  on  loyalist  recruits  with  a  sudden  and  un 
sparing  hand.  Pursuing  Tarleton,  who  was  out  on  one  of 
his  plundering  expeditions,  Lee  came  upon  three  hundred 
loyalists  marching  to  join  Cornwallis.  He  did  not  want  to 
lose  his  blow  at  Tarleton,  who,  only  a  few  miles  ahead,  was 
quite  unconscious  of  his  presence,  and  so  trusting  to  the  re 
semblance  in  uniform,  he  tried  to  slip  by  the  Tory  companies. 
He  very  nearly  succeeded,  and  was  fairly  in  the  midst  of 
them  when  one  of  the  loyalist  riflemen  detected  the  trick 
and  fired.  There  was  no  help  for  it ;  Tarleton  must  be 
abandoned.  Out  came  the  sabres,  and  in  a  few  moments 
ninety  of  the  loyalist  militiamen  were  lying  on  the  field ; 
their  commander  was  desperately  wounded,  and  the  rest 
of  the  men  were  racing  away  for  safety  in  all  directions. 
The  destruction  of  this  large  body  of  loyal  recruits  made 
enlisting  under  the  crown  so  unpleasant  and  unpopular 
that  it  ceased  in  that  neighborhood  entirely,  for  there  was 
clearly  no  use  in  trying  to  serve  a  king  who  could  not 
give  better  protection  than  this  to  his  volunteers. 

This  little  affair  illustrated  the  situation  of  Cornwallis. 
He  could  not  get  reinforcements,  his  communications 
were  cut,  and  to  reach  supplies  and  ammunition  he  would 
have  to  go  to  Wilmington  and  leave  Greene  behind. 
Thus  it  became  absolutely  necessary  to  him  to  fight  a 
battle.  But  Greene,  disappointed  by  perverse,  well-mean 
ing  and  ill-acting  legislatures,  could  not  get  the  additional 
men  he  so  sorely  needed,  although  clamorous  messages 
went  speeding  forth  for  them  in  all  directions.  He,  too, 
wanted  a  battle,  for  he  felt  that  even  if  he  could  not  win, 
he  could  at  least  cripple  the  English  by  a  hard  fight  and 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH         419 

still  bring  his  army  off  in  good  order  after  a  defeat.  But 
fight  he  would  not  until  he  had  enough  men  to  give  him 
at  least  a  fair  chance.  So  he  took  up  a  position  between 
the  two  streams  which  fed  the  Haw  River,  and  then 
marched  about,  shifting  his  camp  every  night,  keeping 
Cornwallis  constantly  on  the  move,  and  never  allowing 
him  to  come  near  enough  for  anything  more  than  a  sharp 
skirmish.  At  last  the  baffled  Cornwallis  gave  over  the 
pursuit  and  went  into  camp  at  Bell's  Mills  to  rest  his  men, 
who  were  beginning  to  get  weary  and  to  desert. 

This  gave  Greene  likewise  opportunity  to  rest  and  re 
cruit  his  own  forces.  By  the  individual  exertions  of  lead 
ers  like  Stevens  and  Lavvson  of  Virginia,  and  Eaton  and 
Butler  of  North  Carolina,  militia  had  finally  been  raised, 
and,  in  the  time  given  by  skilful  delays,  had  been  gradually 
joining  the  American  army.  Thus  strengthened  and  rest 
ed,  Greene  determined  to  accept  battle,  and,  on  March  14, 
1781,  he  marched  to  Guilford  Court  House  and  took  up  a 
position  on  ground  which  he  had  already  carefully  exam 
ined  with  a  view  to  fighting  there.  He  had  now  with  him 
forty-two  hundred  foot,  and  not  quite  two  hundred  cavalry. 
Of  these  less  than  fifteen  hundred  were  regulars.  The  rest 
were  militia,  and  Greene  was  only  too  well  aware  that  he 
could  place  but  little  dependence  upon  them  against  the 
onset  of  regulars  and  veterans.  Still  he  believed  that 
perchance  he  might  win,  that  at  the  worst  he  could 
only  lose  the  field  and  have  his  militia  dispersed,  and 
that  he  was  reasonably  certain  to  so  damage  the  enemy 
that  they  would  be  compelled  to  retreat  to  Wilming 
ton.  On  the  fifteenth,  therefore,  he  selected  his  ground 
and  placed  his  troops  with  great  care.  In  the  first  line 
he  put  the  North  Carolina  militia ;  in  the  second,  the 


420  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Virginians,  also  militia,  but  men  who  had  been  under 
fire,  and  among  whom  were  many  old  Continentals  ;  in 
the  third  line  were  the  regulars  from  Maryland  and  Vir 
ginia,  but  only  one  regiment,  the  First  Maryland,  was 
composed  of  veterans.  On  the  right  flank  were  posted 
Washington  and  his  dragoons  and  part  of  the  light  in 
fantry,  and  on  the  left  Lee  and  his  light  cavalry  and  the 
rest  of  the  light  infantry,  backed  by  Campbell  with  some 
of  his  King's  Mountain  riflemen,  all  veterans  and  the  pick 
of  the  army. 

Lee,  thrown  forward  on  the  skirmish  line,  drove  in 
Tarleton,  and  then  fell  back  before  the  main  column  of 
the  enemy.  The  British  van  came  in  view  about  one 
o'clock  and  Cornwallis  opened  a  sharp  cannonade,  and 
then  forming  his  men  advanced  rapidly.  Greene  had  ad 
dressed  the  North  Carolina  militia  and  besought  them  to 
give  two  volleys  and  then  retire ;  but  when  they  saw  the 
British  coming  on  at  a  charge,  although  they  apparently 
fired  a  first  and  probably  a  second  volley,*  they  then  broke 
in  wild  panic,  and,  despite  all  the  officers  could  do,  fled  in 
all  directions  without  inflicting  the  slightest  further  damage 
upon  the  enemy.  Now  appeared  the  wisdom  of  Greene's 
dispositions.  As  the  British  rushed  forward,  cheering, 
Washington  and  Lee  fell  on  their  flanks,  checked  them, 
and  gave  the  Virginians  time  to  pour  in  a  steady  and  well- 
directed  fire.  The  British  line  was  shaken,  and  men  began 
to  drop  fast,  but  the  well-disciplined  regulars  still  kept 
on,  while  the  Virginians  gave  way  on  the  right,  retreating 
slowly  and  without  panic.  The  British,  now  somewhat 

*  The  generally  received  account  is  that  the  North  Carolina  militia  ran  without 
firing  a  shot,  but  I  think  that  Judge  Schenck,  in  his  history  of  North  Carolina,  fairly 
proves  that  they  were  only  ordered  to  fire  two  volleys,  and  that  they  certainly  did  some 
effective  firing  before  they  broke  and  fled. 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH         423 

broken,  pushed  through  on  the  right  and  came  on  the  vet 
eran  Maryland  regiment,  which  opened  a  close  and  destruc 
tive  fire,  and  then,  charging,  drove  the  British  back  in  con 
fusion.  Had  Greene  dared  to  throw  in  his  other  Conti 
nentals  at  this  point  he  might  have  won,  but  this  he  would 
not  do;  for  he  lacked  confidence  in  the  new  regiments, 
and  did  not  intend  to  risk,  in  the  slightest  degree  or  under 
any  temptation,  the  loss  of  his  army,  which  would  have 
followed  the  dispersion  of  his  regular  troops.  His  fore 
sight  was  justified,  for  the  Virginian  left,  having  fallen 
back  at  last,  the  British  columns  again  united  and  before 
their  attack  the  Second  Maryland  broke  and  ran.  The 
first  regiment  again  charged  on  the  advancing  British,  and 
at  the  same  moment  Washington  and  his  dragoons  once 
more  fell  upon  their  flank.  Again  the  British  gave  way, 
this  time  in  utter  disorder;  and  Cornwallis,  whose  horse 
had  been  shot  under  him,  seeing  the  flight  of  his  army,  or 
dered  the  artillery  to  open.  His  officers  remonstrated,  de 
claring  that  he  wrould  destroy  his  own  men,  but  Cornwallis 
persisted,  and  the  artillery  firing  through  their  own  ranks 
checked  the  American  pursuit,  thus  giving  the  British  time 
to  re-form  their  broken  lines. 

Greene,  like  Cornwallis,  well  at  the  front  and  taking 
in  the  whole  field,  but  ignorant  as  to  Lee's  whereabouts 
and  fearing  that  his  flanks  would  be  turned,  decided  at 
once  to  take  no  further  risks.  He  was  confident  that  the 
enemy  had  been  badly  crippled,  and  being  determined  not 
to  allow  his  regulars  to  suffer  further,  ordered  a  retreat. 
The  British  attempted  to  pursue,  but  were  easily  repulsed, 
and  Greene,  in  good  order,  moved  off  his  whole  army, 
leaving  only  some  guns,  the  horses  of  which  had  been  killed 
He  proceeded  as  far  as  Reedy. Fork,  three  miles  distant, 


424  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

waited  there  quietly  for  some  hours  to  gather  the  strag 
glers,  and  then  marched  on  and  occupied  his  old  camp  on 
Troublesome  Creek. 

The  battle  had  been  stubbornly  fought,  and  the  British 
had  suffered  severely.  Cornwallis  had  lost,  by  his  own  re 
port,  406  killed  and  wounded  and  26  missing,  while  Greene's 
information  was  that  the  enemy  had  lost  633,  exclusive  of 
officers,  among  whom  the  casualties  had  been  exceptionally 
severe,  many  of  the  most  conspicuous  having  been  killed 
or  wounded.  Over  a  thousand  of  the  Americans  were 
missing.  In  other  words,  the  militia  had  gone  home,  as 
Greene  said,  "to  kiss  their  sweethearts  and  wives."  Five 
hundred  and  fifty-two  of  the  North  Carolina  militia,  who 
had  only  lost  nine  men  in  battle,  and  294  of  the  Virginians, 
who  had  fought  well,  had  departed  in  this  quiet  and  un 
obtrusive  way.  But  these  men  could  be  recovered,  and 
the  American  loss  in  killed  and  wounded  was  only  163,  less 
than  half  of  that  which  they  had  inflicted  on  the  enemy. 
Greene,  moreover,  after  the  fight  was  over,  had  his  army 
in  high  spirits  and  good  condition,  ready  for  further  work. 
Cornwallis,  for  his  part,  issued  a  proclamation  announcing 
a  triumph,  and  when  his  glowing  dispatch  reached  England, 
Charles  Fox  said  that  "  another  such  victory  would  destroy 
the  British  army."  Cornwallis,  if  judged  by  his  actions 
and  not  by  his  words,  took  much  the  same  view.  Leaving 
his  own  and  the  American  wounded  on  the  field,  he  not 
only  did  not  pursue  his  beaten  foe,  but  began  an  immediate 
retreat  from  the  scene  of  his  loudly  proclaimed  victory. 
Greene,  the  defeated,  started  after  him,  and  although  hold 
ing  his  short-term  militia  with  great  difficulty,  the  van 
quished  eagerly  pursued  the  victor,  and  tried  to  catch  him 
by  the  most  hurried  marches,  while  the  conqueror  just 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH         425 

managed  to  get  over  the  Deep  River  before  the  Virginians, 
finally  abandoning  Greene,  obliged  him  to  desist  from  the 
chase.  The  victorious  Cornwallis  then  went  on  to  Wil 
mington  to  refit,  and  the  American  General,  having  lost 
his  battle  and  won  his  campaign,  took  the  bold  step  which 
marks  more  than  anything  else  his  military  capacity,  and 
which  finally  resulted  in  his  driving  the  British  from  the 
South. 

Up  to  this  time  Greene  had  been  devoting  all  his  efforts 
toward  making  his  army,  stopping  any  loyalist  rising,  and 
preventing  the  advance  of  Cornwallis  to  the  North.  In 
all  these  objects  he  had  been  entirely  successful.  Corn 
wallis,  with  his  army  much  broken,  had  been  forced  to 
retreat  to  tide  water,  thus  abandoning  the  State  of  North 
Carolina,  except  where  his  army  camped,  and  leaving  all 
the  rest  of  the  State  practically  free.  An  important  por 
tion  of  the  British  forces  in  the  Southern  department,  the 
second  division,  in  fact,  under  the  command  of  Lord 
Rawdon,  were  stationed  in  South  Carolina,  and  held  that 
State  and  Georgia  firmly,  by  their  presence  and  by  their 
possession  of  a  chain  of  fortified  posts.  With  the  British 
forces  in  this  position,  two  courses  were  open  to  Greene  at 
this  juncture.  One  was  to  follow  the  line  he  had  hitherto 
pursued  ;  hover  on  Cormvallis's  flank,  cut  his  communica 
tion,  isolate  him,  prevent  his  advance  to  the  North,  and 
fight  him  again  as  soon  as  he  could  sufficiently  recruit  his 
army.  This  was  the  safe  and  obvious  plan  in  conformity 
with  the  original  purpose  for  which  Greene  and  his  army 
were  intended,  and  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  have 
criticised  him  if  he  had  adopted  it.  The  alternative 
course  was  bold  and  hazardous,  but  pregnant  with  the  pos 
sibility  of  much  greater  and  more  decisive  results.  This 


426  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

second  plan  was  to  give  over  all  thought  of  checking 
Cornwallis's  northern  movement  and  by  marching  boldly 
to  the  southward,  thrust  himself  between  the  main  army 
and  the  Southern  division,  and  then  attack  the  latter  and 
their  posts.  From  this  course  of  action,  as  Greene  wrote, 
one  of  two  results  must  come.  North  Carolina  was  free, 
was  too  difficult  a  country,  and  too  sparsely  settled,  to  in 
vite  further  attack  from  the  British,  who  had  been  forced 
down  to  the  coast.  Cornwallis  therefore,  either  would 
have  to  march  on  to  the  North,  leaving  Greene  free 
to  break  up  the  British  posts  and  drive  the  enemy  from 
South  Carolina  and  Georgia,  or  he  would  be  compelled 
to  follow  Greene,  in  which  case  the  British  campaign 
would  have  failed,  and  the  war  be  narrowed  to  the 
two  southernmost  States,  with  the  North  to  draw  upon 
for  men  and  supplies.  It  was  true  that  Virginia  was  in 
Greene's  department,  and  that  by  marching  South,  he 
would  leave  it  open  to  the  enemy,  but  Virginia  was  the 
most  populous  and  one  of  the  strongest  of  the  States, 
with  no  loyalist  element,  as  in  the  Carolinas,  and  able  to 
make,  unaided,  a  formidable  defence.  Moreover,  every 
step  that  Cornwallis  took  to  the  North  brought  him 
nearer  to  the  principal  American  army  under  Washington, 
now  reinforced  by  the  French  troops. 

Greene,  having  decided  on  his  new  movement  and  upon 
this  daring  change  in  the  plan  of  campaign,  acted  quickly, 
so  quickly  indeed  that  he  was  out  of  Cornwallis's  reach 
before  the  British  knew  what  he  was  intending  to  do. 
April  2d  he  bade  farewell  to  his  home-loving  militia,  and 
on  the  6th,  after  detaching  Lee  to  join  Marion  and  assail 
Lord  Rawdon's  communications  with  Charleston,  he  be 
gan  his  movement  to  the  South.  His  objective  point  was 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH        427 

Camden,  and  thither  he  directed  his  march,  halting  that 
night  and  making  his  camp  at  Hobkirk's  Hill,  less  than 
two  miles  from  the  enemy's  works.  His  antagonist,  Lord 
Rawdon,  was  a  bold  and  enterprising  officer.  Hearing  of 
the  near  approach  of  Greene,  and  learning  from  a  deserter 
that  Sumter  had  not  come  up,  and  that  the  artillery  had 
not  arrived,  he  determined  to  surprise  the  Americans.  He 
therefore  marched  out  early  on  the  morning  of  April  yth 
with  this  end  in  view,  but,  unluckily  for  him,  Greene 
was  never  in  a  condition  to  be  surprised.  He  had  his 
men  encamped  in  order  of  battle,  with  a  strong  picket 
line,  and  it  was  this  characteristic  and  sleepless  watch 
fulness  which  now  saved  him,  for  he  had  not  anticipated 
an  attack  the  very  morning  after  he  had  crossed  the  bor 
der.  Lord  Rawdon's  prompt  movement  was  unexpected, 
and  would  have  been  much  more  disastrous  had  it  not 
been  for  Greene's  arrangements.  As  it  was,  his  excel 
lent  picket-line  fell  back  slowly,  skirmishing  heavily  and 
delaying  the  enemy's  advance,  which  gave  time  to  form 
the  American  army.  The  opposing  forces  were  pretty 
nearly  matched,  Greene  having  about  fourteen  hundred 
men  and  Rawdon  about  a  thousand,  but  the  advantage  in 
equipment,  discipline,  and  experience  was  with  the  British. 
The  attack  was  made  with  rapidity  and  vigor,  the  Brit 
ish  charging  boldly  up  the  low  slopes  of  the  hill.  Greene 
watching  keenly,  saw  that  the  enemy's  front  was  narrow 
and  gave  orders  to  extend  his  lines,  but  Lord  Rawdon 
was  too  quick  and  threw  out  his  reserves  before  either 
Ford  or  Campbell  could  reach  his  flanks.  In  the  centre 
the  Marylanders,  who  had  fought  so  admirably  at  Guil- 
ford,  got  into  confusion  in  one  company,  and  then  badly 
handled  by  their  commander,  Colonel  Gunby,  began  to 


42cS          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

retreat  just  at  the  critical  moment  when  they  were  actually 
piercing  the  enemy's  line,  and  when  Greene  thought  that 
victory  was  in  his  grasp.  This  sudden  and  unexpected 
misfortune  compromised  the  whole  position  ;  and  Greene, 
with  the  self-control  and  quick  decision  which  saved  his 
campaign  on  so  many  occasions,  determined  to  take  no 
further  risk  and  withdrew  his  men  in  good  order.  There 
was  a  sharp  fight  over  the  artillery,  but  Washington,  who 
had  been  delayed  and  entangled  in  the  woods,  coming  up 
with  his  dragoons,  charged  vigorously,  and  the  Americans 
brought  off  all  the  guns.  The  American  loss  in  killed, 
wounded,  and  missing  appears  to  have  been  two  hundred 
and  seventy-one,  the  British  two  hundred  and  fifty-eight, 
but  the  proportion  of  killed  and  wounded  was  heavier 
with  the  latter  than  with  the  former. 

Saved  by  his  unresting  vigilance  from  a  surprise,  but 
defeated  in  battle  by  the  utterly  unexpected  blundering  of 
an  experienced  officer,  Greene  was  sorely  depressed  by  the 
result  at  Hobkirk's  Hill.  Yet  he  made  no  sign.  With 
the  same  dogged  persistence  as  when  he  outmarched  Corn- 
wallis  he  withdrew  to  Rugely  Mills,  and  despite  the  usual 
heart-breaking  disappointments  in  getting  reinforcements, 
he  reposed  and  recruited  his  army,  and  then  moved  out 
again  and  once  more  threatened  Camden. 

Lee  and  Marion,  who  had  been  sent  forward  when 
Greene  quitted  North  Carolina,  had  failed  to  intercept 
Watson,  who  joined  the  mam  army  on  May  7th.  Thus 
reinforced,  Rawdon  left  Camden  and  started  again  after 
Greene,  intending  to  pass  him  on  the  flank  and  attack  him 
in  the  rear.  But  although  Rawdon  was  enterprising  and 
quick,  he  was  no  match  for  Greene  when  it  came  to  man 
oeuvring.  Greene  moved  off  in  such  a  manner  as  to  de- 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH        431 

feat  Rawdon's  plan,  and  then  took  up  a  strong  position 
which  the  British  looked  at  and  feared  to  attack.  Unable 
to  bring  Greene  to  action,  except  on  ground  of  his  own 
choosing,  Rawdon's  position  became  untenable  ;  for  while 
Greene  threatened  him  on  the  flank,  Lee  and  Marion  were 
menacing  his  communications  and  his  fortified  posts, 
especially  Fort  Motte.  Thus  forced  by  his  opponent's 
movements,  Rawdon,  on  May  loth,  evacuated  Camden, 
leaving  his  wounded  behind  him,  and  withdrew  to  Monks 
Corner,  only  thirty  miles  from  Charleston.  Like  Corn- 
wallis,  he  had  been  compelled  to  retreat  to  the  seaboard 
and  leave  the  interior  of  the  State  free  to  the  operations  of 
the  American  army.  Again  Greene,  by  his  strategy  and 
by  the  manner  in  which  he  manoeuvred  his  army  and  dis 
posed  his  outlying  detachments,  had  forced  the  British  to 
retreat.  Again  he  had  lost  a  battle  and  won  a  campaign. 

Now  began  to  appear  the  results  of  the  bold  move 
ment  to  the  South  in  more  substantial  form  than  the  re 
treat  of  the  English  army  to  the  seaboard.  "  We  fight, 
get  beat,  rise,  and  fight  again,"  wrote  Greene  to  the  French 
minister,  and  now  the  "  fighting  again  "  had  fairly  begun. 
Lee  and  Marion  had  failed  to  stop  Watson  on  his  way  to 
Lord  Rawdon,  but  they  besieged  the  fort  which  bore  the 
former's  name,  and  took  it  on  April  27th.  May  loth 
Camden  was  evacuated,  and  Greene  marched  in  and  lev 
elled  the  works.  After  this,  events  moved  fast,  the  second 
part  of  Greene's  campaign,  involving  the  destruction  of 
the  British  posts,  having  now  fairly  opened.  Very  pre 
cious  among  these  posts  was  Fort  Motte,  and  one  motive 
of  Lord  Rawdon's  hasty  retreat  was  to  save  this  particular 
place.  On  May  I2th,  so  quickly  did  he  move,  his  camp- 
fires  were  seen  by  the  Americans  on  the  opposite  side  of 


432          THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  Congaree.  But  with  all  his  effort,  he  was  too  late, 
arriving  only  in  time  to  see  the  Americans  set  fire  to  the 
Motte  house,  in  the  centre  of  the  stockade,  with  burning 
arrows,  provided  by  Mrs.  Motte  herself,  and  thereupon  the 
surrender  of  the  post  and  the  garrison.  The  day  before 
the  fall  of  Fort  Motte,  Sumter  had  taken  Orangeburg  ; 
on  the  1 4th,  Neilson's  Ferry  was  evacuated,  and  on  the 
1 5th,  after  a  sharp  attack,  Lee  took  Fort  Gran  by  and  cap 
tured  the  garrison.  In  less  than  a  month  from  the  day 
when  he  reached  Camden,  Greene  had  occupied  that  town, 
forced  back  the  main  British  army  to  the  coast,  and  by  his 
well-led  and  well-directed  detachments,  had  taken  four 
posts  and  compelled  the  abandonment  of  two  more.  The 
British  grip  on  the  Carolinas  was  being  rudely  broken, 
and  the  States  which  they  had  believed  firmly  within  their 
power,  were  slipping  rapidly  away  from  them.  North 
Carolina  was  free,  and  South  Carolina  nearly  cleared  of 
the  enemy.  Georgia,  the  first  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  British,  the  most  strongly  held  and  remote  enough 
from  the  camp  on  the  Pedee,  where  Greene  withdrew  at 
the  beginning  to  rest  and  gather  his  army,  and  whence  he 
set  forth  upon  his  campaign,  still  remained  in  the  con 
trol  of  the  enemy.  To  Georgia,  therefore,  Lee  directed 
his  march  after  the  fail  of  Fort  Granby,  and  capturing 
a  small  post  on  his  way,  joined  Pickens  in  the  siege 
of  Augusta  on  May  2ist.  The  town  was  well  defended 
by  two  strong  works,  Fort  Cornwallis  and  Fort  Grierson. 
While  Pickens  attacked  the  former,  Lee  besieged  the  lat 
ter.  Driven  from  Fort  Grierson,  the  garrison  undertook 
to  withdraw  to  Fcrt  Cornwallis,  and  were  nearly  all  killed 
or  captured  in  the  attempt.  The  whole  American  force 
then  concentrated  their  attack  on  the  remaining  fort,  which 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH         433 

was  the  larger  and  more  formidable  of  the  two.  There 
was  a  strong  garrison  within  its  walls,  consisting  in  part  of 
some  of  England's  Indian  auxiliaries,  and  both  the  red 
and  white  soldiers  of  the  Crown  fought  gallantly  and  well. 
They  made  several  fierce  sallies  and  met  the  besiegers  ob 
stinately  at  every  point.  But  the  Americans,  with  equal 
obstinacy,  drew  their  lines  closer  and  closer.  They  mounted 
their  one  gun  on  a  log  tower  devised  at  Fort  Watson  by 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Mayham,  and  by  this  bit  of  American 
invention  were  able  to  use  their  extremely  limited  artillery 
with  great  effect.  At  the  same  time  the  riflemen  covered 
every  point  of  the  fort,  and  picked  off  the  garrison  with 
unerring  aim.  Steadily  the  Americans  pushed  nearer, 
until  at  last  all  was  ready  for  an  assault  upon  the  now 
broken  works.  Then,  at  last,  the  garrison,  which  had 
suffered  severely,  surrendered  after  their  long  and  stubborn 
defence,  and  Augusta  and  all  its  brave  defenders  passed 
into  the  hands  of  the  Americans. 

Meantime  Greene  had  directed  his  own  course  with  the 
main  army  against  Ninety-six,  about  twenty-five  miles  from 
Augusta,  and  the  strongest  British  post  in  the  South.  It 
was  now  held  by  Colonel  Cruger  with  five  hundred  men,  and 
was  a  well-fortified  place  of  great  strength.  Greene  made 
the  mistake  of  opening  his  trenches  too  close  to  the  fort, 
within  seventy  yards,  and  was  forced  to  withdraw  and  begin 
again  at  a  distance  of  four  hundred  yards.  Time  was  thus 
lost,  but  although  Greene,  weakened  by  his  detachments, 
which  had  been  so  well  employed  and  by  the  customary 
failure  of  the  militia  to  come  in  when  expected,  had  only 
a  thousand  men,  the  besiegers'  lines  were  pushed  vigorously 
and  rapidly.  June  8th,  Lee  arrived  from  Augusta,  and 
was  assigned  to  the  siege  of  the  outlying  stockade,  which 


434  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

protected  the  water-supply  of  the  besieged,  and  the  evacu 
ation  of  which  he  forced  on  the  1 7th.  Cruger  and  his  men 
were  now  helpless,  their  works  were  swept  by  the  Ameri 
can  fire,  and  in  two  or  three  days  the  place  must  have  sur 
rendered  unconditionally.  But  Lord  Rawdon  was  deter 
mined  that  so  large  a  detachment  as  that  in  Ninety-six 
should  not  be  sacrificed,  and  with  his  army  refreshed  and 
strengthened,  he  started  from  Charleston  on  June  7th,  just 
when  Lee  was  leaving  Augusta.  Greene  heard  of  his 
coming,  and  knew  by  the  i8th  that  Rawdon  had  eluded 
Sumter,  who  was  not  behaving  well  in  a  subordinate  posi 
tion,  and  was  within  two  or  three  days'  inarch  of  Ninety- 
six.  The  advancing  British  army,  now  drawing  near  so 
rapidly,  outnumbered  the  Americans  more  than  two  to 
one,  and  it  was  plainly  impossible  to  give  them  battle. 
Greene,  therefore,  impelled  by  the  eager  desire  of  his  men, 
determined  to  try  an  assault,  which  was  delivered  with  the 
utmost  gallantry.  Lee  on  the  right  was  successful,  but  the 
main  attack  was  repulsed  after  some  very  savage  fighting, 
which  cost  the  Americans  one  hundred  and  eighty-five 
men  in  killed  and  wounded.  After  this  failure,  there  was 
no  alternative  left,  and  Greene,  bitterly  disappointed,  raised 
the  siege  and  withdrew.  The  British  army  marched  into 
Ninety-six  on  June  2ist,  and  then  went  after  Greene, 
who,  too  weak  to  meet  them  in  the  field,  easily  eluded 
their  pursuit  and  kept  out  of  the  way,  until  Lord  Rawdon, 
his  men  being  utterly  exhausted,  abandoned  the  chase. 
This  done,  Greene  resorted  to  his  usual  tactics.  Unable 
to  meet  his  adversary  in  the  open  field  he  wrote  "  that  he 
should  endeavor  to  oblige  the  British  to  evacuate  Ninety- 
six  and  to  manoeuvre  them  down  into  the  lower  country." 
As  he  planned,  so  it  fell  out.  Before  his  skilful  move- 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH        435 

ments  Rawdon  once  more  found  himself  unable  to  either 
fight  or  hold  his  ground.  Dividing  his  army  he  evacuated 
Ninety-six,  and  in  two  columns  took  his  way  to  Charles 
ton,  carrying  with  him  into  exile  the  unhappy  loyalists  who 
dared  not  remain  now  that  the  British  post  was  abandoned. 
The  whole  region,  in  fact,  commanded  by  the  strong  de 
tachment  at  Ninety-six,  was  once  again  in  American  con 
trol,  and  the  British,  again  forced  from  the  interior,  were 
pushed  back  to  the  seaboard  where  they  could  get  support 
from  their  ships. 

After  Rawdon  had  retreated,  Greene  withdrew  his 
army  to  the  hills  of  the  Santee  to  rest  and  recruit  during 
the  extreme  heat  of  the  summer  ;  but  the  withdrawal 
of  the  main  army  did  not  stop  the  fighting.  Lee,  Mari 
on,  Sumter  and  the  commanders  of  detachments  under 
Greene's  direction  followed  the  retreating  British  troops 
and  skirmished  actively  with  the  rear  guards  of  Rawdon 
and  Cruger.  They  swept  down  even  to  the  picket  lines 
at  Charleston,  destroyed  ships  in  the  Cooper  River,  in  a 
series  of  small  actions  cut  off  and  routed  several  outlying 
parties  of  the  enemy,  and  made  prisoners  to  the  number 
of  seven  officers  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  men.  Through 
out  the  region  from  which  the  British  had  been  driven, 
civil  war  of  the  most  intense  kind  raged,  the  American 
loyalist  fighting  with  the  American  patriot,  brother  with 
brother,  and  kinsman  with  kinsman.  The  fate  of  the 
loyalists  was  in  truth  pitiable.  Those  who  had  followed 
the  English  army  to  Charleston,  suffered  there  from  dis 
ease,  bad  quarters,  and  bad  food.  Those  who  remained 
behind  were  left  exposed  to  the  attacks  of  their  fellow- 
Americans  whom  they  had  helped  to  persecute  in  the 
brief  days  of  British  ascendancy.  The  British  themselves, 


4j6  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

unable  to  protect  their  supporters,  made  matters  worse 
by  proclamations,  confiscations  of  property  within  their 
reach,  brutality  to  prisoners,  and  occasional  hangings, 
which  culminated  in  the  execution  of  Colonel  Hayne,  a 
prisoner  of  war,  after  a  mere  mockery  of  a  trial.  The 
hanging  of  Hayne  filled  Greene  with  wrath  and  he  threat 
ened  immediate  reprisals,  which  put  a  stop  to  the  execu 
tions  of  any  more  American  prisoners,  but  the  people 
were  not  so  temperate.  They  not  only  threatened  re 
prisals,  but  made  them.  Greene,  at  once  strong  and 
merciful,  could  not  restrain  the  Americans  beyond  the 
lines  of  his  camp,  and  the  British  made  no  effort  to  hold 
back  their  allies.  On  the  one  side  were  the  patriots  or 
Whigs,  as  they  called  themselves,  returning  to  their 
homes,  too  often  mere  heaps  of  ashes  ;  embittered  by 
a  sense  of  many  wrongs,  exultant  and  confident,  inflamed 
by  the  hangings  at  Charleston  and  thirsting  for  revenge. 
On  the  other  side  were  the  loyalists,  deserted  by  the 
royal  army,  inspired  by  hatred  of  their  antagonists,  and 
utterly  desperate.  The  result  was  that  the  State  was  filled 
with  partisan  fighting,  with  much  burning  and  plunder 
ing,  and  not  a  few  bloody  deeds.  The  English  policy  of 
encouraging  a  local  civil  war  and  of  giving  the  people 
she  sought  to  retain  as  subjects  no  choice  but  to  fight 
against  their  country  or  go  to  ruin,  prison,  and  death, 
bore  bitter  fruit  in  South  Carolina  and  Georgia  during 
that  summer  of  1781. 

While  Greene,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  wild  fighting, 
was  resting  and  drilling  his  army  and  slowly  drawing  in 
reinforcements  to  his  well-ordered  camp  among  the  cool 
hills  of  Santee,  his  late  opponent,  Lord  Rawdon,  in  order 
to  repair  his  broken  health,  took  ship  for  England,  only 


*. 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH        439 

to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  French.  He  was  succeeded 
in  the  command  at  Charleston  by  Lieutenant-Colonel 
Stewart,  who,  in  the  latter  part  of  August,  moved  out 
with  about  2,300  men,  and  marched  to  the  junction  of  the 
Congaree  and  VVataree,  where  he  encamped.  Informed 
as  to  the  enemy's  movements,  Greene  also  moved  out  on 
August  22d,  and,  making  a  wide  circuit,  marched  toward 
Stewart,  whose  communications  were  threatened  by  de 
tachments  sent  forward  by  Greene,  and  who  was  forced  to 
fall  back  to  Eutaw  Springs.  On  September  ;th  Greene 
was  at  BurdeH's  plantation,  within  easy  striking  distance, 
and  here  he  was  joined  by  Marion,  who  had  just  routed 
a  party  of  three  hundred  Hessians  and  British,  inflicting 
a  loss  of  over  a  hundred,  and  breaking  them  completely. 
Good  news  this  to  come  to  the  army,  for  Greene  had  de 
termined  this  time  to  attack,  although  he  had  no  more 
men  than  his  antagonist.  Stewart,  moreover,  had  posted 
his  men  in  a  very  strong  position,  and  was  so  confident 
that,  had  it  not  been  for  two  deserters,  he  would  have 
been  surprised.  As  it  was,  he  had  just  time  to  make  his 
arrangements  the  next  morning,  before  the  Americans 
were  upon  him.  His  cavalry,  sent  forward  under  Coffin, 
were  cut  to  pieces,  and  the  Americans,  formed  by  Greene 
in  two  columns,  came  on  rapidly  and  unflinchingly.  This 
time  the  militia  fought  well.  The  North  Carolinians  fired 
seventeen  rounds  before  they  gave  way,  and,  when  they 
fell  back,  the  Virginians  and  the  men  of  Maryland  rushed 
promptly  into  their  places.  Twice  the  steady  British  lines 
repelled  the  assault,  but,  as  they  became  disordered  by  their 
success,  Greene  saw  that  the  critical  moment  had  come 
and  put  in  his  Continentals.  With  a  fierce  bayonet 
charge,  the  men  in  buff  and  blue  broke  through  the  Brit- 


440          THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ish  centre,  while  Lee  flanked  the  enemy  on  the  left.  The 
rout  seemed  complete,  the  victors  poured  into  the  British 
camp,  carrying  all  before  them,  and,  then,  forgetting  the 
bonds  of  discipline,  scattered  in  every  direction  to  seek 
plunder  and  drink.  It  was  a  fatal  error,  and  only  Greene's 
coolness  and  the  steadiness  of  his  best  troops  prevented 
his  victory  from  being  turned  into  utter  disaster.  The 
retreating  British  had  flung  themselves  into  a  brick  house 
which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  camp,  and  poured  from 
this  vantage-ground  a  galling  and  deadly  fire  upon  their 
assailants.  Meantime  the  right  wing  of  the  British  held 
their  ground,  and  repulsed  the  American  attack  with  a 
heavy  slaughter.  Lee  also  had  got  separated  from  the 
main  line,  and  the  Americans,  scattered  and  dispersed, 
were  suffering  heavily  in  all  directions.  Greene  saw  that 
his  position  was  fatally  compromised.  With  great  dif 
ficulty  and  supreme  exertion  he  re-formed  his  lines  and 
got  the  army  again  in  order  of  battle.  But  the  complete 
victory  which  he  had  won  by  his  first  attack  had  slipped 
from  him  through  the  failure  in  discipline  of  his  men 
when  they  believed  that  the  field  was  theirs.  His  sol 
diers  were  exhausted,  and  he  decided,  as  he  had  so  often, 
with  stern  self-control,  decided  before,  that  he  must  not 
hazard  the  existence  of  the  army,  no  matter  how  glitter 
ing  the  prize  of  a  possible  victory.  Reluctantly  he  gave 
the  word  to  retreat,  and  with  nearly  five  hundred  prison 
ers  he  withdrew  to  the  plantation  he  had  left  in  the  morn 
ing,  confident  only  that  he  had  crippled  his  opponent  and 
would  force  him  to  retreat  to  Charleston.  It  had  been  a 
hard-fought  fight.  The  Americans  had  lost,  in  killed  and 
wounded,  four  hundred  and  eight  ;  the  British,  four  hun 
dred  and  thirty-three,  and  at  least  as  many  more  in  prison- 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH         44r 

ers.  Stewart,  as  Greene  had  anticipated,  was  obliged  to 
retreat,  and  marched  back  to  Charleston,  leaving  seventy 
of  his  wounded  to  the  Americans.  At  Guilford  and  Hob- 
kirk's  Hill,  Greene  had  lost  his  battle  and  won  his  cam 
paign.  At  Eutaw  he  had  fought  a  drawn  battle,  but  he  had 
broken  Stewart,  as  he  did  Cornwallis,  and  once  more  had 
won  his  campaign.  The  British  had  come  out  in  the  open, 
made  a  hard  fight  and  been  obliged  to  return  to  the  sea 
shore.  They  had  failed  once  more  to  break  the  American 
army,  they  had  failed  to  hold  the  country  beyond  the 
reach  of  tide-water  and  of  their  garrisoned  town.  This 
was  defeat,  for  the  loyalists  could  not  sustain  themselves 
alone,  and,  with  the  British  shut  up  in  Charleston,  the 
States  of  the  South  were  in  control  of  the  Americans,  as 
New  York  and  New  Jersey  were  in  the  North. 

Marion  and  Lee  followed  Stewart's  retreating  army  to 
Charleston,  harassing  his  march  and  cutting  off  stragglers 
and  detached  bodies  of  troops,  while  Greene,  his  main 
purpose  effected,  withdrew  again  to  the  high  hills  to  rest 
and  gather  reinforcements.  Recruits  were  slow  in  com 
ing  in,  and  the  enemy  made  a  raid  into  North  Carolina 
which  revived  partisan  warfare  in  that  State.  But  the 
movement  was  only  sporadic.  Yorktown  fell,  Virginia 
was  cleared  of  the  enemy,  North  Carolina  was  also  free, 
and  Wilmington  was  evacuated.  The  surrender  of  Corn 
wallis  enabled  Washington  to  send  Wayne,  with  the  Penn- 
sylvanians,  to  the  Southern  army,  and  thus  encouraged  by 
the  welcome  tidings  from  the  North,  Greene  took  the 
field  on  November  :8th  and  marched  against  the  enemy. 
Leaving  the  main  army  to  pursue  Stewart,  he  went  him 
self  with  a  small  detachment  of  picked  troops,  drove  back 
a  strong  but  detached  British  division  to  Charleston,  and 


442  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

thus  forced  Stewart  to  retreat  to  the  city,  where  the  great 
est  alarm  prevailed.  Having  thus  again  confined  the  ene 
my  to  Charleston,  Greene  encamped  at  the  Round  O,  in  a 
strong  position,  and  held  the  British,  who  outnumbered 
him  five  to  one,  in  check  within  the  Charleston  lines. 

St.  Clair  and  Wayne  arrived  with  the  Pennsylvanians 
as  the  year  was  closing,  and  early  in  January,  1782,  Greene 
detached  the  latter  with  five  hundred  men  to  operate  in 
Georgia.  Wayne  was,  as  ever,  bold  and  enterprising.  He 
re-established  the  State  government,  and,  although  very  in 
ferior  in  numbers,  he  harassed  the  British  and  kept  them 
cooped  up  in  Savannah.  In  April  he  cut  off  a  detach 
ment  of  the  enemy  which  had  gone  out  to  rouse  the  Ind 
ians,  and  a  little  later  he  repelled  a  night  attack  made 
by  the  Indians  themselves,  their  chief  and  the  British 
guides  all  falling  in  the  dark  and  murderous  conflict.  Too 
weak  still  to  attack,  Wayne  circled  about  Savannah,  keep 
ing  the  garrison  hemmed  in,  until,  on  July  nth,  the  city 
was  evacuated  and  Georgia  passed  finally  into  the  hands  of 
the  Americans. 

The  war  was  now  practically  over.  There  were  a  few 
skirmishes,  in  one  of  which  John  Laurens  fell,  young,  gal 
lant,  leading  a  charge  and  giving  his  life  uselessly  when  his 
country's  victory  was  won.  But  these  affairs  had  no  real 
importance.  Greene  held  the  field  and  watched  his  foe, 
while  the  British  remained  clinging  helplessly  to  Charles 
ton,  and,  despite  their  superiority  of  numbers,  unable  to  do 
anything  against  their  vigilant  enemy.  Slowly  another  year 
rolled  round,  and,  finally,  on  December  i4th,  the  British 
evacuated  Charleston,  and  Greene's  soldiers  marched  in  on 
the  very  heels  of  their  departing  foes  and  posted  themselves 
at  the  State  House.  At  three  o'clock  Greene  himself, 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH        445 

escorted  by  Lee's  famous  cavalry,  rode  in  with  his  officers 
and  with  the  Governor  of  South  Carolina,  restored  at  last 
to  his  capital.  Outside  lay  the  English  fleet,  now  spreading 
their  sails  and  dropping  down  to  the  sea  to  carry  the  English 
army  back  across  the  Atlantic.  As  Greene  passed  along 
the  streets  the  crowds  welcomed  him  with  cheers,  cast 
wreaths  from  the  windows,  and  cried  to  God  to  bless  him. 
So  it  is  well  to  leave  him  in  the  sunshine  and  the  flowers, 
with  the  light  of  a  great  triumph  radiant  upon  him.  The 
patient,  brave,  enduring,  often  defeated,  but  never  con 
quered,  man,  the  hard-fighting  soldier,  the  keen  strategist, 
had  come  to  his  reward  at  last.  His  work  was  done  and 
well  done.  He  passed  out  of  the  sunshine  of  victory  to  die 
all  too  early  among  the  people  for  whom  he  had  fought, 
leaving  the  memory  of  his  deeds  of  war  as  his  last  memory, 
untouched  by  any  of  the  trials  and  differences  which  the 
coming  years  of  political  strife  brought  to  so  many  of  his 
comrades  in  arms. 

No  outline  of  Greene's  campaign  can  do  full  justice  to 
him  and  to  his  army.  There  is  no  great  dramatic  mo 
ment  when  he  arose  at  once  triumphant  to  the  complete 
victory  at  which  he  aimed.  From  the  day  when  he  took 
command  of  a  beaten  army  at  Charlotte  to  that  other 
day,  two  years  later,  when  he  rode  victorious  into  Charles 
ton,  he  had  been  laboring  incessantly  with  the  single  pur 
pose  of  pressing  the  British  back  to  the  sea  and  setting 
free  the  Southern  States.  The  forces  under  his  command 
had  fought  four  pitched  battles.  Morgan  won  at  the  Cow- 
pens,  and  Greene  was  defeated  at  Guilford  and  Hob- 
kirk's  Hill,  and  had  fought  a  drawn  battle  at  Eutaw. 
Judged  merely  by  this  statement  of  his  battles,  one  would 
call  him  an  unsuccessful  General,  and  yet  he  was  steadily 


446  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

victorious.  By  his  detachments  under  the  really  brilliant 
leadership  of  Marion,  Lee,  and  Sumter,  of  Williams  and 
Washington  and  the  rest,  by  his  masterly  retreats  and 
equally  masterly  strategy,  he  held  his  army  together  with 
grim  tenacity,  and  surely  and  steadily  forced  the  British 
back  before  an  advance  not  always  apparent  but  as  resist 
less  as  the  incoming  tide,  which  seems  never  to  gain  and 
yet  ever  rises  higher  and  higher.  And  always  behind  and 
hand  in  hand  with  the  operations  in  the  field  went  on  con 
tinually  the  grinding,  harassing  work  of  making  and  re 
making  his  army,  shifting  perpetually  under  the  wretched 
system  of  short  enlistments.  In  the  North,  miserable  as 
the  arrangements  were,  the  army  was  near  Congress,  they 
were  supplied  by  contract,  they  were  in  the  most  settled 
parts  of  the  country,  and  the  loyalists  there  were  generally 
few  and  weak.  Greene  fought  through  a  country  where 
a  large  part  of  the  native  population  was  in  arms  against 
him,  and  where  it  was  often  difficult  to  distinguish  friend 
from  foe.  He  had  no  contracts,  but  was  obliged  to  rely 
on  the  changeable,  well-meaning,  but  often  weak  and  ill- 
informed,  State  governments.  There  was  never  a  mo 
ment  when  he  was  not  short  of  men,  money,  ammunition, 
and  supplies,  and  when  he  was  not  writing,  supplicating, 
demanding  all  these  things,  and  but  rarely  obtaining  them. 
Under  these  conditions,  aided  by  his  singularly  gallant  and 
enterprising  officers,  and  by  the  picked  fighting  men  of  the 
South,  whom  he  gradually  gathered  round  him,  he  came 
to  a  complete  victory.  Steadily  he  out-generalled,  out 
marched,  and,  in  the  long  run,  out-fought  his  opponents. 
Slowly  and  surely  he  narrowed  the  enemy's  field  of  oper- 
tions  and  forced  the  English  to  the  coast.  Gradually  the 
three  States  which  the  British  had  overrun  so  rapidly  and 


GREENE'S  CAMPAIGN  IN  THE  SOUTH         447 

triumphantly  passed  from  their  control,  and  the  loyalist 
support  withered  away  before  the  advance  of  Greene's 
army  and  the  sweeping  raids  of  his  lieutenants.  So  the 
end  came  with  a  victory  as  complete  as  the  patient  labor, 
the  unresting  energy,  and  the  keen  intelligence  which 
made  it  possible.  A  fine  piece  of  soldier's  work,  very 
nobly  and  ably  done,  and  deserving  of  great  praise  and  re 
membrance  from  all  those  who  call  Greene  and  his  army 
countrymen.  Wayne,  who  watched  by  the  death-bed  of 
Greene,  wrote  when  the  end  came,  "  He  was  great  as  a 
soldier,  great  as  a  citizen,  immaculate  as  a  friend.  The 
honors  —  the  greatest  honors  —  of  war  are  due  his  remains. 
Pardon  this  scrawl.  My  feelings  are  but  too  much  affect 
ed  because  I  have  seen  a  great  and  good  man  die." 

So,  with  the  simple  words  of  the  comrade  who  fought 
by  his  side,  we  may  leave  the  victor  of  the  campaign 
which  carried  the  American  Revolution  to  triumph  in 
the  South. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE   TEST   OF   ENDURANCE 

1779-1781 

AS  the  year  1778  was  closing,  the  scene  of  action  was 
shifted  from  the  North  to  the  South.  All  eyes 
at  the  time  were  fixed  on  the  events  which  began 
with  the  appearance  of  the  British  in  Georgia,  and,  so  far 
as  this  period  of  the  war  is  concerned,  the  habit  has  con 
tinued,  in  large  measure,  down  to  the  present  day.  Thus 
it  happens  that  these  two  years  in  the  North,  in  the  Con 
gress  and  the  camp,  as  well  as  over  seas,  are  less  well 
known,  less  rightly  valued  than  any  other  part  of  the  Rev 
olutionary  War.  That  this  should  be  so  was,  at  the  time, 
wholly  natural.  The  fall  of  Savannah,  and  its  subsequent 
defence  against  the  French  and  Americans,  the  capture  of 
Charleston,  the  rapid  success  of  the  British  arms,  the  defeat 
of  Gates,  the  gradual  development  and  hard  fighting  of 
Greene's  great  campaign,  all  drew  the  attention  and  filled 
the  minds  of  men  everywhere.  Yet,  important  as  these 
events  were,  the  vital  point  still  remained  where  Wash 
ington  and  his  army  watched  the  Hudson  and  kept  the 
enemy  pinioned  in  New  York.  If  that  army  had  failed  or 
dissolved,  the  English  forces  would  have  swept  down  from 
the  North  to  meet  their  brethren  in  the  South,  and  nothing 

then  could  have  saved  Greene  ;  for  the  one  primary  condi- 

448 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  449 

tion  of  his  campaign  was  that  no  British  soldiers  should 
come  from  the  North  to  break  his  communications,  cut 
off  his  supplies,  and  take  him  in  the  rear.  None  came 
from  the  North  and  none  could  come.  With  a  singleness 
of  purpose  and  a  strategical  soundness  which  have  never 
been  fully  appreciated,  Washington  clung  to  the  central 
zone  of  the  Middle  States.  Whatever  happened,  he  was 
determined  that  the  British  should  never  get  the  line  of 
the  Hudson  and  divide  New  England — whence  he  drew 
most  of  his  troops — from  the  great  Middle  Colonies. 
Neither  Burgoyne  on  the  North,  nor  Cornwallis  on  the 
South,  could  draw  him  from  his  position.  Attacks  on  the 
extremities  he  knew  were  not  deadly,  and  he  felt  sure  that 
they  could  be  repulsed  ;  but  if  the  centre  was  once  pierced, 
then  dire  peril  was  at  hand.  So  long  as  he  kept  an  army 
together  and  the  line  of  the  Hudson  open,  so  long  as  he 
could  move  at  will,  either  eastward  into  New  England  or 
southward  into  Virginia,  he  knew  that  the  ultimate  success 
of  the  Revolution  was  merely  a  question  of  time.  The 
period  of  active  fighting  in  the  North  was  over;  that  of 
waiting — dreary,  trying,  monotonous  waiting — had  set  in, 
and  it  lasted  until  the  moment  for  which  Washington 
was  watching  arrived — the  great  moment  when  a  decisive 
stroke  could  be  given  which  would  end  the  war.  Two 
years  the  waiting  and  watching  went  on — years  of  patience, 
suffering,  and  trial.  Nothing  was  done  that  led  straight 
to  anything — nothing  but  the  holding  fast  which  was  to 
bring  the  final  victory. 

Very  hard  to  understand  now  was  the  victory  thus 
achieved  by  keeping  the  army  in  existence  and  the  Rev 
olution  alive  during  that  time  of  sullen,  dogged  waiting. 
Everywhere  were  visible  signs  of  exhaustion,  of  longings 


450          THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

to  have  done  with  the  business  before  it  was  really  finished. 
Over  seas  the  symptoms  of  fatigue  were  painfully  apparent. 
England,  as  has  always  been  the  case  when  she  is  sore 
bested — and  never  was  she  in  worse  plight  than  then — was 
making  a  bold  front  to  the  enemies  who  ringed  her  round. 
She  was  suffering  enormously.  American  war-ships  and 
privateers  were  tearing  her  commerce  to  pieces.  Her 
naval  prestige  was  hurt  to  the  quick  by  John  Paul  Jones 
taking  the  Serapis  in  a  hand-to-hand  fight  and  circling 
Great  Britain  with  his  cruisers,  wrecking  and  pillaging  on 
land  and  sea.  A  race  of  seamen  as  bold  and  hardy  as  her 
own,  flying  the  flag  of  her  revolted  Colonies,  swarmed  along 
the  highways  of  her  commerce,  and  even  in  the  English 
Channel  were  seizing  her  merchantmen  and  crippling  her 
trade.  Insurance  rates  rose  ruinously,  and  English  mer 
chants  faced  losses  which  they  would  have  deemed  impos 
sible  five  years  before.  France  and  Spain  had  both  gone 
to  war  with  her,  threatened  her  coasts,  employed  her  fleets, 
and  soon  beleaguered  her  great  sentinel  fortress  at  Gibral 
tar.  Wherever  her  vast  possessions  extended,  wherever 
her  drum-beat  was  heard,  there  was  war;  in  the  Indian 
Ocean,  as  well  as  in  the  Antilles,  no  colony  was  safe,  and 
there  was  no  Pitt  now  to  guide  the  forces  as  in  the  days 
when  she  humbled  the  power  of  the  House  of  Bourbon. 
But  England  set  her  teeth  and  would  not  yet  cry  hold. 
Her  European  enemies  were  suffering,  too,  and  worse  than 
she,  for  they  were  both  unsound  within,  politically  and 
financially.  In  France  the  disease  which  the  monarchy 
had  engendered  and  which  the  Revolution  alone  could  cure 
was  already  deeply  felt.  France  was  beginning  to  long  for 
rest,  and,  despite  her  early  energy  in  the  American  cause, 
she  was  ready  to  sacrifice  that  cause  to  her  own  interests  at 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  451 

any  moment.  France  desired  peace — an  ill  omen  for 
America,  with  its  Revolution  only  half  fought  out.  With 
the  ally  of  France  the  condition  was  even  worse.  Spain 
was  corrupt,  broken,  rotten  to  the  core,  merely  hiding  her 
decrepitude  under  the  mask  of  an  empire  which  had  once 
been  great.  Dragged  into  the  war  by  France,  she  had  no 
love  whatever  for  the  Americans — desired  only  to  prey 
upon  them  and  gather  in  what  she  could  from  the  wreck 
of  the  British  Empire.  She,  too,  was  feeling  the  strain  of 
war ;  exhaustion  was  upon  her,  and  she,  too,  longed  for 
peace. 

In  such  a  situation,  amid  these  powers  of  the  Old 
World,  occupied  only  with  their  own  interests  and  enfee 
bled  by  their  own  maladies,  the  fortunes  of  the  young  na 
tion  struggling  painfully  into  life  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic  were  in  sufficiently  evil  case.  The  work  of  saving 
them  fell  heavily  upon  the  envoys  of  Congress,  manfully 
battling  for  their  cause  abroad  in  the  midst  of  these  adverse 
and  selfish  forces.  But  help  came  to  them  and  to  the  Re 
volution,  as  it  had  come  to  the  American  armies  so  often, 
from  the  blunders  of  their  adversary.  Instead  of  trying  to 
conciliate,  England  grew  more  and  more  offensive  to  all 
the  neutral  powers,  and  especially  to  those  which  were  weak. 
She  seized  and  searched  their  ships,  interfered  with  their 
trade,  and  assumed  to  exercise  an  arrogant  control  over  all 
their  commerce.  Hence  protracted  bickerings,  protocols, 
notes,  and  all  the  machinery  of  diplomacy  put  into  violent 
action,  with  much  running  hither  and  thither  of  eminent 
persons,  and  much  speeding  about  of  dusty  couriers  riding 
post-haste  with  despatches.  It  is  very  difficult  and  not 
very  profitable  to  follow  these  performances  with  their 
turns  and  windings  and  futilities  of  all  sorts.  But  out  of 


452          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

these  dim  and  confused  discussions  came  two  results  of  gen 
uine  importance  to  the  world  of  that  day,  and  particularly 
to  the  American  Revolution.  One  was  the  neutrality  of 
the  Northern  powers,  headed  by  Russia  and  her  redoubt 
able  Empress,  aimed  against  England,  and  very  trouble 
some  and  crippling  to  the  latter  in  the  days  of  a  conflict 
which  had  grown  world-wide.  The  other  result  of  real 
importance  and  meaning  was  England's  making  war  upon 
the  Dutch.  This  was  pure  aggression,  born  of  a  desire  to 
break  down  a  power  once  formidable  as  a  rival  and  still  a 
competitor  in  trade.  The  Dutch  were  innocent  enough, 
their  only  real  crime  having  been  a  refusal  to  become  Eng 
land's  ally  But  whether  they  were  innocent  or  guilty  was 
of  no  consequence,  and  England  made  war  upon  them. 
She  dealt  a  last  fatal  blow  to  the  nation  which  had  shat 
tered  the  power  of  Spain,  played  an  equal  part  among  the 
great  states  of  Europe,  and  given  to  England  herself  the 
one  great  man  among  her  modern  kings.  Holland  sank 
eventually  under  the  attack;  but  England  added  one  more 
foe  to  those  who  now  surrounded  her  in  her  "splendid 
isolation,"  and  she  threw  open  to  her  revolted  colonies 
another  money-market  rich  in  capital,  which  went  forth  in 
loans  to  the  Americans,  quick  enough  to  take  advantage 
of  such  an  opportunity. 

In  the  United  States  in  1779  the  same  relaxation  of 
energy  was  apparent.  Congress  passed  the  winter  and 
spring  in  long  debates  as  to  the  terms  of  peace.  Gerard, 
the  French  Minister,  was  active  among  the  members,  urg 
ing  them  to  accept  conditions  which  involved  every  sort 
of  sacrifice,  largely  for  the  benefit  of  Spain.  So  eager 
indeed,  was  the  desire  for  peace  that  a  strong  party  in  Con 
gress  backed  up  all  the  wishes  of  the  French  envoy.  At 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  453 

one  time  it  looked  as  if  the  navigation  of  the  Mississippi 
might  be  given  up,  and  the  great  Northeastern  fisheries 
were  actually  abandoned.  Finally  Congress  evaded  both 
issues  by  resolving  to  send  an  envoy  to  Spain,  for  which 
post  John  Jay  was  chosen,  and  meantime  to  insist  on  the 
navigation  of  the  Mississippi,  while  the  matter  of  the  fish 
eries  was  put  over  to  a  future  treaty  with  Great  Britain. 
In  other  respects  the  instructions  were  weak,  with  a  plain 
tive  desire  to  bring  the  war  to  an  end  at  almost  any  price 
running  all  through  them. 

So  Congress  spent  most  of  its  time  and  strength  in  dis 
cussing  the  means  of  getting  peace  when  the  war  was  not 
yet  fought  out,  and  did  little  or  nothing  to  sustain  that  war 
which  was  flagrant  about  it.  Thirty  thousand  men  at 
least  were  needed  for  any  effective  movement  against  New 
York,  and  the  army  was  not  a  third  of  that  number,  and 
was  dwindling  instead  of  growing.  Washington  came  to 
Philadelphia  and  passed  a  month  there  with  Congress, 
urging,  reasoning,  explaining,  beginning  now  to  press  for 
better  union  and  a  strong  central  Government.  Then  he 
went  back  to  the  camp  to  continue  the  urgings  and  rea 
sonings  and  stern  advice  on  many  subjects  by  letter.  Not 
until  March  did  Congress  even  vote  additional  battalions, 
and  although  this  was  well,  voting  men  was  by  no  means 
the  same  thing  as  getting  them.  The  finances  also  were  in 
frightful  disorder.  Many  great  wars,  perhaps  most  of  them, 
have  been  fought  on  irredeemable  paper  currency,  and  it 
is  no  doubt  true  that  this  was  probably  the  quickest,  if  not 
the  only  resource  of  Congress  at  the  beginning.  But  to 
fight  on  paper  money  alone,  to  raise  no  money  by  taxa 
tion,  in  fact  to  get  no  money  at  all  from  the  people  was 
an  impossible  scheme.  Yet  this  was  precisely  what  Con- 


454  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

gress  attempted  to  do,  and  they  had  no  other  supply  to 
look  to  except  foreign  loans  which  were  uncertain  and  in 
sufficient.  So  one  emission  of  bills  succeeded  another, 
and  the  Continental  money  sank  rapidly,  while  speculators 
and  forestallers  throve  on  the  disorders  of  the  currency,  and 
the  Government,  poor  though  it  might  be,  was  robbed  and 
plundered.  The  popular  spirit  relaxed  its  temper,  encour 
aged  thereto  by  the  foreign  alliances  and  disheartened 
by  the  domestic  disorders,  as  well  as  by  the  greed  of  those 
who  amassed  fortunes  from  the  fluctuations  of  prices  and 
fattened  on  the  public  distress.  It  looked  as  if  the  Amer 
ican  Revolution,  rising  victorious  on  the  field  of  battle, 
might  sink  and  wither  away  under  the  poison  of  civil  dis 
order  and  social  debility. 

Bad  as  all  these  things  were  in  their  effect  upon  the 
American  cause  and  upon  the  people  themselves,  the 
actual  personal  suffering  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  army  by 
whose  existence  the  Revolution  was  sustained.  Officers 
and  men  went  unpaid  for  long  periods,  and  when  they  re 
ceived  their  pay  it  was  in  a  paper  currency  which  depreci 
ated  in  their  hands  even  before  they  could  spend  it  or  send 
it  to  their  families.  Hence  great  difficulty  in  holding  the 
army  together,  and  still  greater  difficulty  in  recruiting  it. 
With  lack  of  pay  went  lack  of  every  provision  and  muni 
tion  of  war,  and,  as  a  consequence,  ill-clothed,  ill-armed, 
ill-fed  soldiers.  In  the  midst  of  these  grinding  cares  and 
trials  stood  Washington,  with  the  problem  of  existence 
always  at  his  door,  with  the  great  duty  of  success  ever  pres 
ent  at  his  side,  and  with  only  the  patriotism  of  his  men 
and  his  own  grim  courage  and  tenacity  of  purpose  to  sup 
port  him.  Under  the  pressure  of  hard  facts  one  plan  after 
another  had  to  be  given  up.  A  vigorous  offensive  cam- 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  455 

paign  which  would  drive  the  British  from  the  country  was 
impossible.  The  next  best  thing  was  to  keep  them  shut 
up  where  they  were,  and  to  hold  fast,  as  had  so  wisely  and 
steadily  been  done,  to  the  central  position  in  the  valley  of 
the  Hudson,  at  the  mouth  of  the  great  river  whence  blows 
could  be  struck  hard  and  quickly  either  in  New  England 
or  the  Middle  States,  which  must  never  be  separated,  no 
matter  what  happened.  So  Washington  resumed  perforce 
the  defensive  and  watched  and  waited :  to  much  purpose, 
as  it  in  due  course  appeared,  for  the  British  seemed  unable 
to  make  any  effective  movement,  and  lay  cooped  up  in 
New  York  close  to  their  ships,  with  their  vigilant  foe  al 
ways  hovering  near.  Not  until  Washington  could  get  an 
efficient  army  and  the  command  of  the  sea  would  he  be 
able  to  strike  a  fatal  blow,  and  no  man  could  tell  when 
those  conditions  would  come  to  pass.  The  silent  General 
knew  just  what  he  needed,  and  equally  well  that  he  had  it 
not.  So  he  waited,  unable  to  attack  and  ready  to  fight. 
The  test  of  endurance  had  begun. 

The  British  on  their  side  displayed  activity  only  in 
spasmodic  dashes  here  and  there,  of  little  meaning  and 
petty  results.  General  Matthews,  with  2,500  men,  went 
to  Virginia,  made  a  burning,  pillaging  raid,  destroyed  a 
certain  number  of  houses  and  tobacco  ships,  and  came 
back  with  his  futilities  to  New  York.  Tryon,  once  royal 
Governor  of  New  York,  led  another  expedition  of  2,600 
men  into  Connecticut.  Here,  as  in  Virginia,  burning  and 
pillaging  and  some  sharp  skirmishes  with  militia,  who 
managed  to  leave  their  marks  on  the  King's  troops.  Vil 
lages,  churches,  houses,  vessels,  went  up  in  smoke.  A 
black  trail  marked  the  line  followed  by  Tryon's  raiders, 
and  then  he  likewise  returned  to  New  York  as  empty  in 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

solid  results  as  Matthews,  and  with  a  certain  amount  of 
destroyed  property  and  increased  hatred  from  the  Ameri 
cans  to  his  credit. 

The  worthlessness  of  these  performances  and  the  utter 
uselessness  of  such  plundering  forays  were  quite  apparent 
to  Washington,  and,  except  for  the  suffering  of  the  people 
upon  whom  they  fell,  troubled  him  little.  But  there  was 
another  movement  of  the  enemy  which  awakened  his 
keenest  interest,  because  in  it  he  saw  possibilities  of  real 
danger.  Clinton,  after  the  return  of  Matthews,  had  gone 
up  the  river  and  taken  possession  of  Stony  Point  and  Ver- 
planck's  Point,  driving  off  the  Americans  and  securing  in 
this  way  control  of  Kings  Ferry,  an  important  line  of 
communication  between  New  York  and  New  Jersey. 
Here  was  something  which  looked  as  if  it  had  meaning. 
Perhaps  an  idea  had  come  to  Clinton,  and  possibly  he  was 
intending  to  master  the  Hudson  Valley  by  building  a  line 
of  formidable  posts  along  the  river.  Certain  it  was  that 
he  had  put  a  force  of  five  hundred  men  at  Stony  Point, 
and  was  actively  completing  and  strengthening  the  works 
there.  If  Clinton  had  any  plan  of  this  perilous  sort  it 
must  be  nipped  at  the  start.  No  British  posts  must  be  ad 
vanced  to  the  north  to  endanger  the  American  stronghold 
at  West  Point,  which  dominated  and  closed  the  river.  So 
Washington  decided  to  take  Stony  Point,  and,  as  was  his 
habit,  chose  the  best  man  for  the  work,  because  in  a  des 
perate  undertaking  like  this  everything  depended  on  the 
leader.  His  choice  fell  on  Anthony  Wayne,  then  a  Briga 
dier-General  and  one  of  Washington's  favorite  officers. 
Wayne  came  of  fighting  stock.  His  grandfather,  a  York- 
shireman,  nearly  a  century  before  had  gone  to  Ireland, 
where  he  commanded  a  company  of  dragoons  under  Will- 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE 


457 


iam  of  Orange  at  the  battle  of  the  Boyne.  From  Ireland  he 
had  immigrated  to  the  frontiers  of  Pennsylvania,  and  there 
his  grandson  was  born 
in  i  745.  The  family  was 
in  easy  circumstances, 
and  the  boy  received  a 
good  education,  became 
a  surveyor,  and  was  trust 
ed  in  important  business 
by  Franklin  and  other 
leading  men  of  Philadel 
phia.  He  took  an  eager 
interest  and  active  part 
in  politics,  but  when  the 
note  of  war  came  the 
spirit  of  the  old  Captain 
of  dragoons  who  had  fol 
lowed  Dutch  William 
blazed  up  again  in  the 
young  American.  He  went  at  once  into  the  army,  and 
from  that  time  forward  he  was  constantly  in  the  field.  On 
the  Northern  frontier,  in  New  York  and  New  Jersey,  and 
in  the  campaign  about  Philadelphia,  Wayne,  who  had  risen 
rapidly  to  general's  rank,  was  always  in  the  heat  of  every 
action.  "  Wherever  there  is  fighting  there  is  Wayne,  for 
that  is  his  business,"  was  said  of  him  at  the  time,  and  said 
most  truly.  He  was  always  fighting  with  great  dash,  cour 
age,  and  success,  and  extricating  himself  by  his  quickness 
and  intrepidity  from  the  dangers  into  which  his  reckless 
daring  sometimes  led  him.  "Black  Snake"  the  Indians 
called  him  then,  and  many  years  later,  when  he  had  beaten 
them  under  the  walls  of  an  English  post  in  very  complete 


A  NTH  ON  Y   WA  1  'NE. 

from  an  unpublished  portrait  by  Henry  Hlouiz,  1795. 
produced  by  permission  of  C.   S.  Bradford,  Esq. 


458  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

and  memorable  fashion,  they  named  him  "Tornado."  He 
was  fine-looking,  soldierly,  a  great  stickler  for  handsome 
dress  and  perfect  equipment,  so  much  so  that  some  of  the 
officers  christened  him  "Dandy  Wayne;"  but  the  men 
who  loved  and  followed  him  called  him  "  Mad  Anthony," 
and  the  popular  name  has  clung  to  him  in  history.  Such 
was  the  man  whom  Washington  picked  out  for  the  peril- 


STONY  POINT. 

Kings  Ferry,  an  important  line  of  communication  between  New  York  and  New 
Jersey,  crossed  from  t  tie  fort  at  Stony  Point  to  Verplanck's  Point.  At  the  right  is 
shown  Che  reverse  side  of  the  gold  medal  which  was  awarded  by  Congress  to  Anthony 
Wayne  for  the  captitre  of  Stony  Point. 


9 


ous  task  he  wanted  to  have  performed.  Tradition  says 
that  when  \Vashington  asked  Wayne  if  he  would  storm 
Stony  Point,  Wayne  replied,  "  I  will  storm  hell  if  you  will 
plan  it."  A  very  honest  bit  of  genuine  speech  this  ;  quite 
instructive,  too,  in  its  way,  and  worth  the  consideration  of 
the  modern  critic  who  doubts  Washington's  military 
capacity,  in  which  the  man  who  risked  his  life  upon  it  had 
entire  confidence. 

At  all  events  so  it  fell  out.     Washington  planned  and 
Wayne  stormed,  carrying  out  his  chief's  arrangements  to 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  459 

the  letter.  By  this  time  Stony  Point  had  been  strongly 
fortified,  and  the  approach  was  difficult.  On  July  i5th,  at 
noon,  Wayne  and  his  troops  left  Sandy  Beach  and  made 
their  way  through  the  mountains  by  a  hard  march  along 
gorges  and  over  swamps,  until,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  they  were  in  the  rear  of  the  fort  and  within  a 
mile  and  a  half  of  the  works.  Here  they  rested,  and  made 
ready  for  the  assault  which  was  to  take  place  at  midnight. 
Wayne  divided  his  force  into  two  columns — one  under 
Colonel  Febiger  on  the  right,  the  other  under  Colonel 
Butler  on  the  left.  At  the  extremity  of  each  wing  was  a 
storming  party  of  a  hundred  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  men, 
who  had  volunteered  for  the  duty  and  who  marched  with 
unloaded  muskets,  trusting  wholly  to  the  bayonet,  while  at 
the  head  of  each  storming  party  was  a  forlorn  hope  of  twenty 
men.  The  reserve  was  composed  of  Lee's  Light  Horse,  and 
three  hundred  men  under  General  Muhlenburg  constituted 
the  covering  party.  Not  until  the  lines  were  formed  did 
Wayne  tell  his  men  the  errand  on  which  they  had  come. 
Then,  in  accordance  with  Washington's  direction,  each 
man  fixed  a  piece  of  white  paper  in  his  cap,  and  the 
watchword  "  The  Fort  is  Ours  "  was  given  out.  All  was 
quickly  done,  for  every  detail  had  been  accurately  ar 
ranged,  and  as  soon  as  the  columns  were  formed  they 
moved  rapidly  forward.  Major  Murfree  and  his  North 
Carolinians  in  the  centre  were  delayed  by  the  tide  in  cross 
ing  the  morass,  and  as  they  came  through  they  met  an  out 
post.  The  alarm  was  given  and  a  heavy  fire  of  grapeshot 
and  musketry  opened  upon  them.  On  they  went  without  a 
pause,  as  if  they  were  the  only  troops  on  the  field,  and  every 
other  column  and  division  did  the  same.  Wayne  himself 
led  the  right  wing.  As  he  crossed  the  abatis  a  musket-ball 


460  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

struck  him  on  the  head,  bringing  him  down  and  wound 
ing  him  slightly.  Dazed  as  he  was  by  the  blow,  he  called 
out  that  if  he  was  mortally  hurt  he  wanted  to  die  in  the 
fort,  and  his  aides  picked  him  up  and  bore  him  forward. 
The  rush  of  the  well-directed  columns  was  irresistible.  So 
swift  and  steady  was  the  movement  that  they  passed  the 
abatis  and  went  up  and  over  the  breastworks  without 
check  or  hesitation.  All  was  finished  in  a  few  minutes. 
Some  heavy  firing  from  the  works,  a  short  sharp  rush,  a 
clash  and  push  of  bayonets  in  the  darkness,  and  the  Amer 
icans  poured  into  the  fort.  They  lost  98  men  in  killed 
and  wounded,  the  British  94,  while  practically  all  the  rest 
of  the  garrison,  to  the  number  of  25  officers  and  447  men, 
were  taken  prisoners.  All  the  guns  and  munitions  of 
war,  valued  at  nearly  $160,000,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the 
victors,  who,  having  won  their  fight  in  very  complete 
fashion,  levelled  the  works  and  withdrew.  Soon  after 
ward  Clinton  again  occupied  the  Point,  but  only  to 
abandon  it  finally  in  the  autumn.  The  plan  of  taking 
possession  of  the  Hudson  by  a  series  of  fortified  posts, 
if  seriously  intended,  had  been  peremptorily  stopped,  and 
a  sudden  disaster  had  come  to  the  British.  It  was  a 
very  gallant  feat  of  arms,  admirably  planned,  and  bravely, 
punctually,  and  accurately  performed.  The  unsteadiness 
of  the  Brandywine  and  of  Germantown  had  disappeared, 
and  the  discipline  of  Valley  Forge  was  very  plain  here  to 
the  eyes  of  all  mankind.  The  men  who  had  fought  be 
hind  intrenchments  at  Bunker  Hill  had  been  made  into 
soldiers  able  to  assault  works  held  by  the  best  troops  of 
England.  The  raw  material  was  good  to  start  with,  and 
someone  aided  by  experience  had  evidently  been  at  work 
upon  it. 


THE   CAPTURE   OF  STONY  POINT  BY   WAYNE. 

As  IVayne  -was  crossing-  the  abatis  a  musket-ball  struck  him  on  the  head.  Dazed  as  he  -was  by  the 
blow,  he  called  out  that  if  he  was  mortally  hurt  he  wanted  to  die  in  the  fort,  and  his  aides  picked  him  uj> 
and  bore  him  forward. 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE 


463 


A  month  later  the  Americans  were  still  further  en 
couraged  by  another  daring  exploit.  This  time  the  leader 
was  Major  Harry  Lee,  of  the 
Light  Horse,  and  the  attack 
was  made  on  one  of  the 
strongest  of  the  enemy's 
posts.  Paulus  Hook,  where 
Jersey  City  now  stands,  was 
a  low,  sandy  spur  of  land  run 
ning  well  out  into  the  river. 
At  that  time  it  was  merely 
the  point  where  the  ferry 
boat  from  New  York  landed, 
and  whence  the  stage  for 
Philadelphia  started.  The 
only  buildings  were  the  tav 
ern  and  stables  for  the  use  of 
the  coaches  and  their  passen 
gers,  and  the  house  of  the  guardian  of  the  ferry.  But  the 
position  was  one  of  great  natural  military  strength,  in 
addition  to  being  the  vital  point  on  the  direct  road  to  the 
South.  Between  the  Hook  and  the  main  land  was  a 
morass,  washed  and  often  flooded  by  the  tide,  and  crossed 
only  by  a  narrow  causeway  used  by  the  coaches  and  easily 
defended.  Taking  possession  of  this  point  when  they 
first  occupied  New  York,  the  British  fortified  it  strongly 
with  block-houses  and  redoubts,  while  on  the  water-side  it 
was  within  easy  reach  of  the  city,  and  protected  by  the 
men-of-war.  A  more  difficult  place  to  reach  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  conceive,  and  Washington  had  grave 
doubts  as  to  making  an  attempt  to  surprise  it,  although 
he  finally  gave  a  reluctant  approval.  Lee  then  had  the 


MAJOR    HENRY  LEE. 

("  Light  Horse  Harry.'1) 

From  a  painting  by  C.  W.  Peale  in  1788. 


464  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

roads  and  the  surrounding  country  thoroughly  examined, 
and  sent  out  a  scouting  party  under  Captain  Allen  Mc- 
Lane,  who  prepared  the  way.  Lee  himself  started  on  the 
morning  of  August  i8th  and,  marching  through  the  woods, 
became  separated  from  the  Virginia  contingent,  which  led 
to  many  subsequent  charges  and  counter-charges  of  little 
moment  now,  but  very  bitter  then.  Whatever  the  rea 
sons,  certain  it  is  that  Lee  found  himself  close  to  the 
Hook  at  midnight  with  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  men. 
He  knew  that  the  ordinary  garrison  regiment  and  Van 
Buskirk's  Loyal  Americans  amounted  to  at  least  two  hun 
dred,  but  he  did  not  know  that  Van  Buskirk  had  left  the 
Hook  that  very  night  with  a  hundred  and  thirty  men  to 
attack  an  American  post,  and  that  their  places  had  been 
taken  by  Hessians  from  New  York,  some  of  the  best  of 
the  regular  troops.  Had  he  known  all,  however,  it  would 
probably  have  made  but  little  difference.  He  was  as  dar 
ing  and  reckless  as  Wayne,  and  the  knowledge  that  he 
had  only  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  did  not  check  or  frighten 
him.  He  had  come  to  attack,  and  said  that  if  he  could 
not  take  the  fort,  he  would  at  least  die  in  it.  So  he  gave 
the  watchword  "  Be  Firm,"  and  started.  It  was  after  three 
o'clock,  the  tide  was  rising  and  the  men  struggled  across 
the  morass  in  silence.  When  they  reached  the  ditch  they 
plunged  into  the  water,  and  then  at  last  the  garrison  heard 
them  and  opened  fire.  But  it  was  too  late,  and  the 
Americans  were  too  quick.  Up  they  came,  out  of  the 
ditch  and  into  the  works.  A  few  Hessians  threw  them 
selves  into  one  block-house  ;  about  a  dozen  of  the  British 
were  killed  and  wounded,  and  five  Americans.  One  hun 
dred  and  fifty-nine  British  soldiers  surrendered,  and  with 
them  Lee  withdrew  at  once,  for  relief  was  already  on  its 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  467 

way  from  New  York.  It  was  not  very  easy  to  retreat 
with  prisoners  outnumbering  his  own  force,  and  Lee  had 
some  hard  marching  and  narrow  escapes  ;  but  by  his  swift 
ness  and  energy  he  came  through  successfully,  bringing 
his  captives  with  him.  Paulus  Hook  led  to  nothing  ex 
cept  so  far  as  it  cooled  the  British  and  strengthened  their 
purpose  to  stay  close  in  New  York,  a  very  desirable  feel 
ing  for  the  Americans  to  cultivate.  We  may  read  now 
the  alarm  and  disgust  it  caused  to  the  English  officers  in 
the  letter  of  General  Pattison  to  Lord  Townshend,  while 
the  joy  on  the  American  side  corresponded  to  the  depres 
sion  on  that  of  their  enemies.  It  was  becoming  very  clear 
that  soldiers  capable  of  storming  posts  like  Stony  Point 
and  Paulus  Hook  lacked  only  numbers  and  equipment  to 
be  able  to  face  any  troops  in  the  open  field.  A  long  dis 
tance  had  been  traversed  from  the  panic-stricken  flight  at 
Kip's  Bay  to  the  firm  unyielding  charge  over  earthworks 
and  into  redoubts  of  the  men  who,  without  question  or 
misgiving,  followed  "  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  "  and  "  Light 
Horse  Harry"  in  the  darkness  of  those  summer  nights. 

Apart  from  these  two  dashing  attacks  little  else  was 
done  by  the  Americans  in  the  campaign,  if  such  it  could 
be  called,  of  1779.  An  elaborately  prepared  expedition 
against  the  British  post  at  Castine,  on  the  Penobscot, 
went  to  wreck  and  ruin.  Both  troops  and  ships  were  ill- 
commanded.  The  former  landed,  but  failed  to  carry  the 
works,  and  Sir  George  Collier,  arriving  with  a  sixty-four- 
gun  ship  and  five  frigates,  destroyed  two  of  the  American 
vessels  and  compelled  the  burning  of  the  rest.  The  troops 
then  took  to  the  woods  and  made  their  way  home  as  best 
they  could.  It  was  a  dispiriting  outcome  of  an  attempt 
made  with  high  hopes  and  great  effort. 


468  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

In  New  York  Sullivan  led  a  strong  expedition  of  about 
4,000  men  against  the  Six  Nations.  He  fought  an  action 
at  Newtown  with  some  of  these  allies  of  the  Crown,  whose 
numbers  have  been  variously  estimated  at  from  seven  hun 
dred  to  fifteen  hundred  men.  The  Indians  were  defeated, 
but  drew  off  after  their  fashion  with  apparently  slight  loss. 
Sullivan  then  burned  their  villages,  marched  through  their 
country,  showed  them  that  the  King  could  not  protect 
them,  cooled  their  zeal  and  checked  the  recurring  danger 
of  Indian  inroads  upon  the  settlements.  There  was  much 
criticism  and  heart-burning  at  the  time,  and  there  has  been 
endless  discussion  since  about  the  merits  and  demerits  of 
this  expedition,  an  amount  of  words  having  been  expended 
upon  it  quite  out  of  proportion  to  its  importance.  There 
were  errors  very  likely,  but  it  served  its  purpose,  and 
cleared  and  protected  the  western  borders  of  New  York, 
which  was  all  that  Washington,  who  planned  it,  cared  for. 

The  rest  of  the  fighting  in  the  North  did  not  rise  above 
small  raids  and  petty  affairs  of  outposts  and  partisan  bands. 
Yet  when  the  campaign  closed,  desultory  as  all  its  opera 
tions  had  been,  the  solid  gain,  which  we  can  estimate  now 
far  better  than  could  be  done  at  the  time,  was  all  with  the 
Americans.  Clinton  had  been  forced  to  abandon  Rhode 
Island,  and  all  New  England  was  once  more  in  American 
hands.  He  had  also  felt  compelled  to  withdraw  from 
Stony  Point  and  Yerplanck's  Point,  and  the  Americans 
had  again  taken  possession  of  Kings  Ferry  and  thus  con 
trolled  all  the  upper  country.  The  British  were  confined 
more  closely  than  ever  to  the  city  of  New  York,  and 
Washington  still  held  the  great  line  of  the  Hudson  in  an 
iron  grasp,  and  was  master  of  the  New  England  and  Mid 
dle  States  clear  from  an  enemy,  firmly  united  and  with  free 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  469 

communications  open  between  them.  The  first  stage  in 
the  test  for  endurance  had  been  passed  successfully. 

Then  came  the  winter,  one  of  unusual  severity,  with 
heavy  snows  and  severe  frosts.  Military  operations  were 
out  of  the  question,  but  the  dreary  months  had  to  be  lived 
through.  It  was  a  sore  trial,  and  all  the  appeals  of  the 
Commander-in-Chief  to  Congress  for  aid  were  vain.  The 
executive  part  of  the  Government,  such  as  it  was,  stood 
motionless  and  paralyzed  ;  while  the  army  was  unpaid,  pro 
visions  to  feed  the  men  could  be  gathered  only  with  the 
utmost  difficulty,  and  nothing  effective  was  done  to  fill  the 
thinning  ranks.  Much  of  the  noblest  and  best  work  of 
the  Revolution,  that  work  which  was  most  instinct  with 
patient  patriotism,  was  done  in  these  winter  camps  by  the 
half-starved,  unpaid  officers  and  men  who  formed  the  Am 
erican  army,  and  who,  by  their  grim  tenacity  and  stubborn 
endurance,  kept  that  army  in  existence  and  the  American 
Revolution  with  it.  Very  hard  to  bear  then,  very  difficult 
to  realize  now,  neither  picturesque  nor  soul-stirring,  like 
the  battles  and  sieges  which  every  one  knows  by  heart,  this 
holding  the  army  together,  and  yet  worthy  of  all  praise  and 
remembrance,  for  it  was  by  this  feat  that  the  Revolution 
was  largely  won.  In  the  midst  of  it  all  was  Washington, 
facing  facts  unflinchingly,  looking  ahead,  planning,  advis 
ing,  generally  with  no  result,  but  sometimes  getting  a  little 
done  when  much  was  impossible.  Altogether  a  very  noble 
and  human  figure  contending  against  many  weaknesses, 
stupidities,  and  hindrances  of  every  sort,  with  a  courage 
and  patience  which  merit  the  consideration  of  all  subse 
quent  generations. 

As  Washington  foresaw,  without  recruits  and  proper 
support  from  the  drooping  Congress,  his  army  dwindled. 


4/0  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

In  May  he  appears  to  have  had  only  seven  thousand  men, 
a  month  later  less  than  four  thousand,  to  hold  the  Middle 
and  Eastern  States.  Bad  news  also  came  from  the  South 
that  Charleston  had  surrendered,  and  at  that  dark  moment 
Knyphausen,  with  a  powerful  force,  advanced  into  New 
Jersey.  The  militia  turned  out  promptly.  They  were  sea 
soned  to  war  by  this  time,  and,  although  greatly  outnum 
bered,  they  fought  stubbornly  and  fell  back  slowly  before* 
the  British.  At  Springfield  Maxwell  made  a  determined 
stand,  inflicted  severe  loss  on  the  Hessians,  and  gave  time 
for  Washington  to  come  up  and  take  a  position  so  strong 
that  Knyphausen,  although  he  had  twice  as  many  men,  did 
not  venture  to  attack,  but  on  the  contrary  began  to  retreat, 
the  Americans  following  him  closely  and  engaging  his  rear 
successfully.  This  expedition  degenerated  into  a  mere 
plundering  raid,  was  effectively  checked  and  accomplished 
nothing. 

Soon  afterward  Clinton  returned  from  the  success  at 
Charleston.  He  made  a  movement  into  New  Jersey  to 
supplement  that  of  Knyphausen,  while,  at  the  same  time, 
he  sent  troops  to  threaten  the  American  communications  on 
the  Hudson.  Washington  dealt  with  the  latter  diversion, 
while  Greene  prepared  to  give  battle  at  Springfield.  But 
after  a  heavy  cannonade  the  British  withdrew,  suffering  not 
a  little  on  the  retreat  from  the  American  attacks,  and  crossed 
over  once  more  to  Staten  Island.  The  New  Jersey  cam 
paign,  if  anything  so  serious  had  been  intended,  faded  away 
harmlessly.  It  was  the  last  attempt  of  the  British  to  do 
anything  of  an  offensive  or  important  character  by  military 
operations  in  the  North,  and  with  the  return  of  Clinton  to 
New  York  not  only  their  last  but  their  best  opportunity 
ended.  When  they  invaded  New  Jersey,  Washington  was 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  471 

at  his  very  weakest,  and  the  public  spirit  was  depressed 
and  shaken  by  the  disasters  in  the  South.  Clinton,  more 
over,  outnumbered  his  opponent  four  to  one,  yet  he  failed 
to  push  his  advantage  home,  and  Washington  stayed  the 
advance  of  the  British  with  his  inferior  force  and  threw 
them  back  on  New  York.  The  chance  thus  wasted  by  the 
English  General  could  never  come  again,  for  a  new  factor 
now  appeared  which  made  any  aggressive  action  by  the 
British  hopeless.  Unable  to  defeat  Washington  alone,  or 
to  shatter  his  small  but  determined  army,  it  \vas  clearly  out 
of  the  question  to  make  any  impression  upon  him  when 
backed  by  a  fine  force  of  French  regular  troops  ;  and  on 
July  10,  1780,  these  troops,  to  the  number  of  6,000  and 
led  by  De_  Rochambeau,  arrived  in  Newport.  Clinton 
made  a  show  of  going  to  attack  them,  but  it  was  only  a 
show,  and  his  real  effort  was  concentrated  in  writing  a 
grumbling  letter  to  the  Ministry  and  in  demanding  rein 
forcements.  It  must  be  admitted  that,  ineffective  as  Clin 
ton  was  in  this  instance,  he  was  right  in  his  judgment  of 
the  situation.  The  arrival  of  a  French  army  made  the 
cause  of  England  hopeless  in  the  North  without  large  rein 
forcements  and  capable  commanders,  neither  of  which  she 
was  able  to  furnish. 

But  although  the  coming  of  the  French  was  in  reality 
decisive,  at  the  moment  it  was  fruitful  to  Washington  in 
nothing  but  disappointed  hopes  and  frustrated  plans.  The 
effect  upon  the  country  was  to  make  people  believe  that  with 
these  well-equipped  allies  the  war  was  really  at  an  end,  and 
that  no  further  effort  on  their  part  was  needed,  an  idea 
which  filled  Washington  with  anger  and  disgust,  not  merely 
because  it  was  utterly  unfounded,  but  because  to  him  it 
seemed  entirely  ignoble.  He  had  always  said  and  believed 


472  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

that  the  Revolution  must  be  won  by  Americans,  could  be 
won  in  no  other  way,  and  would  not  be  worth  winning 
in  any  different  fashion.  He  rejoiced  in  the  coming  of 
the  French  because  he  felt  that  it  ought  to  spur  Congress 
and  people  alike  to  renewed  exertion,  and  when,  on  the 
contrary,  it  acted  as  a  sedative  and  his  own  army  seemed 
still  to  diminish  instead  of  to  increase,  he  was  filled  with 
mortification  and  anxiety.  His  one  idea,  with  this  new  sup 
port  of  the  French  open  to  him,  was  to  fight,  and  to  that 
end  he  tried  every  plan,  but  all  in  vain.  One  difficulty 
after  another  appeared.  His  own  army  was  short  of  pow 
der  and  supplies,  and  the  new  levies  dragged  slowly  in. 
Still  these  were  his  old  familiar  enemies,  and  he  could  have 
dealt  with  them  as  he  always  did  in  some  way  more  or  less. 
But  the  troubles  which  arose  on  the  side  of  the  French 
were  new  and  more  serious.  The  French  ships  could  not 
get  into  the  harbor  of  New  York,  there  was  sickness  in  the 
army,  the  British  threatened  Newport,  and  finally  blockaded 
it,  and  De  Rochambeau  would  not  move  without  the  second 
detachment,  which  was  confidently  expected,  but  which,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  was  securely  shut  up  by  the  English  fleet 
at  Brest.  A  very  trying  time  it  was  to  all  concerned,  but 
chiefly  to  the  man  upon  whom  the  great  responsibilities 
rested,  as  the  summer  slipped  away,  full  of  trial,  irritation, 
and  disappointment,  with  nothing  done  and  nothing  at 
tempted.  A  long  summer  it  was  of  appeals  to  the  French 
and  of  stern  letters  to  Congress,  in  which  we  can  read  to 
day  all  the  bitterness  of  spirit  which  filled  the  man  of 
action  who  knew  just  what  he  wanted  to  do,  who  longed 
to  strike,  and  who  was  yet  bound  hand  and  foot. 

From  the  time  when  the  French  landed,  Washington 
had  wished  to  confer  with  De  Rochambeau,  for,  vigorous  as 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  473 

his  letters  were,  he  knew  well  the  importance  of  a  personal 
meeting.  Yet  he  did  not  dare  to  leave  his  army  or  the 
great  river  to  which  he  had  clung  so  desperately  for  so  many 
weary  months,  knowing  that  there  he  held  the  enemy  by 
the  throat.  At  last,  as  summer  was  passing  into  autumn, 
it  seemed  as  if  he  could  go  with  safety,  and  on  September 
1 8th  he  left  Greene  in  command  and  started  for  Hartford, 
where  he  met  De  Rochambeau  on  the  2oth.  He  was  a 
man  of  few  holidays,  and  this  little  change  from  the  long 
and  dreary  anxiety  of  the  army  and  the  camp  was  pleasant 
to  him.  His  spirits  rose  as  he  rode,  and  the  heartfelt 
greetings  of  the  people  in  the  towns  as  he  passed  to  and 
from  Hartford  touched  and  moved  him  deeply.  Pleasant 
indeed  was  this  little  bit  of  sunshine,  coming  in  the  midst 
of  days  darkened  with  care  and  never-ending,  often  fruit 
less  toil,  and  yet  it  was  only  the  prelude  to  one  of  the 
hardest  trials  which  Washington  was  called  to  bear.  It 
seems  as  if  his  uneasiness  and  unwillingness  to  leave  the 
army  were  almost  prophetic,  but  even  the  most  troub 
led  and  foreboding  fancy  could  not  have  pictured  the 
ugly  reality  which  he  was  suddenly  called  to  meet  and 
face. 

Benedict  Arnold  was  born  in  Norwich,  Conn.,  but 
belonged  to  the  well-known  Rhode  Island  family.  De 
scended  from  an  early  Governor  of  the  latter  Colony, 
whose  name  he  bore,  he  represented  one  of  the  oldest  and 
best  families  in  that  State.  He  was  well  educated,  but  ran 
away  at  the  age  of  fifteen  to  join  the  Northern  army  in 
the  old  French  war,  and  then,  wearying  of  his  service,  he 
deserted  and  came  home  alone  through  the  wilderness, 
a  fit  beginning  for  a  life  of  reckless  adventure  both  in 
peace  and  war.  From  his  escapade  on  the  frontier  he 


4/4 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


turned  to  earn  his  own  living  in  the  modest  capacity  of  an 
apothecary's  clerk.     Then  he  became  an  apothecary  and 

bookseller  himself,  made 
money  and  abandoned  these 
quiet  avocations  for  the  life 
of  a  merchant.  He  carried 
on  commerce  with  Canada, 
the  West  Indies,  and  Eu 
rope,  made  many  voyages 
on  his  own  ships  —  some 
thing  much  more  congenial 
to  him  than  standing  be 
hind  a  shop-counter  —  saw 
the  world,  had  adventures, 
and  shot  a  British  Captain 
in  a  duel  for  calling  him 
«a  d— d  Yankee."  He 
was  conspicuous  for  good  looks,  physical  strength  and 
high  personal  courage.  When  the  news  arrived  of  the 
fight  at  Lexington  he  was  in  New  Haven.  To  such  a 
temperament  the  note  of  war  was  an  irresistible  appeal, 
and  he  offered  to  lead  the  Governor's  Guards  at  once  to 
the  scene  of  action.  The  General  in  command  thought 
that  regular  orders  should  be  awaited,  the  select-men  of  the 
town  refused  ammunition,  and  Arnold  thereupon  threat 
ened  to  break  open  the  magazines,  bore  down  resistance, 
got  the  powder  and  marched  to  Cambridge.  From  that 
time  forward  he  was  in  the  forefront  of  the  fighting.  He 
was  with  Allen  at  Ticonderoga,  and  captured  St.  Johns. 
He  returned  to  Cambridge  and  obtained  command  of  the 
expedition  to  Canada  from  the  East,  which  was  to  meet 
that  of  Montgomery  descending  the  St.  Lawrence  from 


GENERAL  BENEDICT  ARNOLD  IN  1778. 
After  the  draiving  by  P.  Du  Simitiere. 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  475 

the  West.  His  march  across  the  Maine  wilderness  was 
one  of  the  most  desperate  ever  made,  but  he  brought  his 
men  through  after  inconceivable  hardships  and  sufferings 
and  laid  siege  to  Quebec.  He  headed  the  assault  upon  the 
town  in  the  bitter  cold  of  New  Year's  eve,  and  was  badly 
wounded.  Still  he  held  on  all  through  the  winter,  keep 
ing  Quebec  besieged,  was  relieved  in  the  spring,  and  then 
shared  in  the  retreat  of  the  Americans  before  the  Brit 
ish  advance.  On  Lake  Champlain  he  gathered  a  fleet  of 
small  vessels  and  fought  a  fierce  and  stubborn  action 
with  the  British.  He  was  defeated  by  superiority  of 
numbers,  but  he  brought  off  part  of  his  ships  and  all  his 
surviving  men  to  Ticonderoga.  In  this  gallant  fight, 
comparatively  little  known  and  never  fully  appreciated,  Ar 
nold  so  crippled  his  enemy  as  to  prevent  the  advance  of 
Carleton  that  year,  a  potent  cause  in  the  delays  which 
brought  Burgoyne  and  the  great  peril  of  the  Revolution 
to  wreck  the  following  summer.  In  that  decisive  cam 
paign  he  played  a  brilliant  part.  At  Freeman's  Farm  he 
repulsed  the  attempt  to  turn  the  left,  and  if  supported 
would  have  won  a  complete  victory.  But  Gates  supported 
no  one,  and  had  no  conception  of  how  to  win  a  battle,  so 
that  after  the  fight  Arnold  gave  way  to  his  temper,  never 
of  the  pleasantest,  and  an  angry  quarrel  ensued.  Arnold  was 
thereupon  relieved,  but  not  actually  superseded,  and  re 
mained  in  the  camp.  In  the  battle  of  October  7th,  with 
out  orders,  he  went  upon  the  field  as  a  volunteer,  and  in  a 
series  of  splendid  charges  broke  the  British  lines  and  flung 
them  back  shattered  beyond  recovery.  Again  he  was 
badly  wounded  in  the  same  leg  as  at  Quebec,  and  was  car 
ried  on  a  litter  to  Albany,  where  he  had  a  slow  recovery. 
Congress  at  last  did  him  the  tardy  justice  of  a  commission, 


4/6  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

which  gave  him  his  rightful  seniority ;  and  as  he  was  still 
too  lame  for  active  service,  he  was  put  in  command  at 
Philadelphia  after  its  evacuation  by  the  British. 

Thus  he  came  to  the  turning-point  of  his  life.  A  very 
brilliant  record  up  to  this  time  was  his,  none  more  so  in  the 
American  army.  Great  qualities  were  in  this  man,  a  great 
force  either  for  good  or  evil,  say  some  of  those  critics  who  are 
wise  after  the  event.  But  very  plain  even  then  to  all  men 
were  the  military  talents,  the  disregard  of  danger,  the  read 
iness  for  every  peril,  and  a  wild  dare-devil  spirit  which  shrank 
from  nothing.  That  spirit  had  led  Benedict  Arnold  through 
the  Maine  woods,  over  the  walls  of  Quebec,  across  the  decks 
of  the  ships  at  Valcour  Bay  and  into  the  thick  of  the  British 
squadrons  in  the  battles  in  New  York.  It  had  endeared  him 
to  Washington,  who  loved  above  all  men  a  ready,  fearless 
fighter,  indifferent  to  responsibilities  and  careless  of  danger. 
These  were  the  qualities,  too,  which  made  him  one  of  the  he 
roes  of  the  army  and  of  the  popular  imagination.  But  that 
same  dare-devil  temper  and  reckless  spirit  which  stopped 
at  nothing  were  quite  capable  of  going  as  unhesitatingly  in 
one  direction  as  another.  We  now  know  that  Arnold  had 
neither  morals  nor  convictions,  and  a  man  so  destitute  of 
honor  and  conscience,  when  utterly  reckless  and  fearless 
of  consequences,  is  the  most  dangerous  man  that  can  be 
produced.  * 

Had  Arnold  never  been  compelled  to  leave  the  field  he 
might  have  come  down  to  us  as  one  of  the  bravest  and 
best  of  our  Revolutionary  soldiers.  He  gave  up,  however, 
active  service  to  command  in  a  city,  where  there  was  abun 
dant  opportunity  of  wrong-doing ;  and  there  all  the  base 
qualities  of  a  thoroughly  sordid  and  immoral  nature,  hidden 
heretofore  under  a  splendid  personal  courage  and  the  display 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  477 

of  real  military  talents,  which  had  asserted  themselves  often 
on  the  day  of  battle,  came  out.  In  Philadelphia  he  married 
Miss  Shippen,  the  handsome  daughter  of  a  Tory  family, 
and  in  this  way  he  came  to  live  among  loyalists  and  hear 
their  talk.  Then  he  spent  money  lavishly  and  gambled 
away  his  fortune,  so  that  at  the  end  of  two  years  he  found 
himself  in  sore  straits.  He  had  a  quarrel  with  Joseph 
Reed,  President  of  Pennsylvania,  charges  were  preferred, 
and  a  committee  of  Congress  acquitted  him.  Further  ac 
cusations  were  made,  but  a  court-martial  again  acquitted 
him  on  the  serious  charges  ;  and  Washington,  in  repri 
manding  him  as  required  by  the  court,  really  gave  him 
high  praise  because  he  thought  Arnold  a  persecuted  man. 
There  is  no  excuse  for  Arnold  in  all  this,  because 
Congress  had  a  singular  aptness  for  favoring  the  inferior 
and  frowning  upon  the  best  officers.  They  treated  Mor 
gan  and  Greene  little  better  than  they  did  Arnold,  until 
events  sternly  taught  them  the  necessary  lesson.  That 
these  attacks  angered  Arnold  is  not  to  be  questioned  ;  but 
what  really  moved  him  were  his  own  poverty  and  the  con 
viction  that  the  American  Revolution,  then  in  the  desper 
ate  stress  of  sullen  endurance,  had  failed.  To  a  man  with 
the  rat  instinct  largely  developed,  that  was  enough.  The 
dare-devil  courage,  the  keen  mind,  and  the  cold  heart  would 
do  the  rest. 

Washington  followed  up  his  laudatory  reprimand  by 
offering  Arnold  the  command  of  one  of  the  wings  of  the 
army,  which  the  latter  declined,  on  the  ground  that  his 
wounds  still  forbade  active  service.  The  real  reason  wras 
that  since  early  in  the  spring  he  had  been  in  communica 
tion  with  the  British,  writing,  under  a  feigned  name,  to 
Major  Andre  of  Clinton's  staff ;  and  in  order  to  make  prof- 


4/8  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

itable  terms  for  his  treachery,  it  was  necessary  that  he 
should  have  something  to  sell.  A  division  of  the  Conti 
nental  army  was  not  salable,  and  could  not  be  delivered  ; 
hence  the  refusal,  and  much  active  effort  and  intrigue, 
which  finally  procured  for  him  the  command  of  West 
Point.  All  Arnold's  communications  with  Andre  were 


Fort  Putnam.  West  Point.  Constitution  Island. 

THE  HUDSON  RIVER  A  T  WEST  POINT. 

Tne  Beverly  Robinson  house,  from  -which  Arnold    escaped  to    the     Vulture,  stood   among    the   trees  directly 

oj>fcsite  West  Point. 

under  the  fit  guise  of  a  commercial  correspondence,  and 
here  at  last  was  a  valuable  piece  of  property  to  barter  and 
sell,  for  West  Point  had  been  selected  by  Washington  as 
the  position  where  he  could  best  hold  the  Hudson  fast  and 
prevent  any  advance  of  the  enemy  up  the  valley,  either  by 
land  or  water.  The  place  had  been  elaborately  and  strongly 
fortified,  and  no  less  than  three  thousand  men  garrisoned 
the  works.  It  was  almost  impregnable  to  attack,  its  loss 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  479 

would  have  been  a  grievous  disaster  to  the  American 
cause,  and  so  the  British  determined  to  buy  and  Arnold 
to  sell  it.  He  took  command  early  in  August,  and  at 
once  attempted  to  open  communications  through  Beverly 
Robinson  with  reference  ostensibly  to  that  gentleman's 
confiscated  property.  Washington  checked  this  scheme 
innocently  but  effectively  by  deciding  that  such  matters 
belonged  to  the  civil  and  not  to  the  military  authority. 

This  plan  having  failed,  Clinton  insisted  that  there 
must  be  a  personal  interview  with  his  agent,  and  various 
abortive  attempts  were  made  to  bring  about  a  meeting. 
At  last,  on  the  night  of  September  2ist,  Arnold  con 
trived  to  have  Andre*  brought  off  by  Joshua  Hett  Smith 
from  the  sloop-of-war  Vulture,  which  was  lying  in  the 
river  below  the  Point.  The  young  Englishman  was  di 
rected  not  to  go  within  the  American  lines,  not  to  change 
his  uniform,  and  to  accept  no  papers  ;  and  thus  instructed 
Andre  with  a  light  heart  landed  at  Long  Clove,  where  Ar 
nold  met  him.  The  two  mounted  and  rode  through  Hav- 
erstraw  to  Smith's  home,  inside  the  American  lines,  and 
Andre  had  disobeyed  his  first  order.  Then  the  conspirators 
went  to  work.  Clinton  was  to  come  up  the  river  with  ships 
from  Rodney's  fleet  and  surprise  West  Point  on  September 
25th  ;  Arnold,  having  scattered  his  men,  was  to  surrender 
promptly  and  then  lure  Washington  to  come  with  rein 
forcements  to  destruction.  For  all  this  Arnold  was  to  re 
ceive  as  reward  a  commission  as  Brigadier-General  in  the 
British  army  and  a  sum  of  money.  It  was  all  "  hire  and 
salary,  not  revenge."  These  interesting  negotiations  con 
sumed  much  time,  and  the  day  was  well  advanced  when 
they  ended.  While  they  were  still  in  progress,  there  was 
a  sound  of  firing,  and  the  conspirators  saw  from  the  window 


48o 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


OLD  FORT  PUTNAM—THE   KEY  TO   THE  DEFENCES  AT  WEST  POINT- 
SHOWING   THE  MAGAZINES 


In  the  distc 


stitntion  Island  , 


an  American  battery  shell  the  Vulture  and  force  her  to 
drop  down  the  river,  An  uncomfortable  sight  this  for 
Andre,  but  Arnold  bore  it  with  entire  philosophy  appar 
ently,  and  rode  off,  leaving  his  guest  to  get  back  to  New 
York  as  best  he  might.  He  provided  him  with  passes  and 
also  papers,  plans  of  the  fort  and  the  like,  which  Andre 
accepted,  and  violated  his  second  instruction.  After  Ar 
nold's  departure  the  day  wore  slowly  away,  and  Andre  be 
gan  to  think  of  his  escape.  Then  it  appeared  that  Smith, 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE 


481 


a  very  careful  person,  had  no  notion  of  running  the  risk 
involved  in  taking  his  guest  off  to  the  Vulture.  So  it  was 
agreed  that  they  should  go  by  land,  and  Andre  then  changed 
his  uniform  and  put  on  ordinary  clothes.  He  thus  broke 
his  third  and  last  instruction,  and  was  now  in  every  respect 
within  the  definition  of  a  spy.  The  two  men  started  at 
dusk,  passed  through  the  American  lines,  spent  the  night  at 
a  house  in  the  neighborhood,  and  resumed  their  march  in 
the  early  morning.  After  having  proceeded  a  little  way, 
the  careful  and  innocent  Smith  parted  from  his  guest,  and 
went  back  to  report  to  Arnold  that  all  was  well,  while 
Andre  rode  on  cheerfully,  feeling  that  all  danger  was  over. 


HEAD-QUARTERS  AT  TAPPAN  FROM  WHICH   THE  ORDER  FOR  ANDRE'S  EXE 
CUTION  WAS  ISSUED. 

He  was  in  fact  crossing  the  neutral  ground,  and  would 
soon  reach  the  British  lines.  Suddenly,  out  of  the  bushes 
came  three  men,  rough-looking  fellows,  one  in  a  refugee's 


482  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

uniform,  who  bade  the  traveller  stand.  Andre  was  in  the 
region  of  the  guerillas,  who  belonged  to  one  party  or  the 
other  in  name,  and  fought  steadily  for  their  own  hand,  so  he 
hastily  concluded  that  these  men  were  "  cowboys,"  partisans 
of  his  own  side,  and  ordered  them  to  give  way,  as  he  was  a 
British  officer.  It  appeared,  however,  that  the  dress  of 
the  men  had  misled  him,  and  that  these  unwelcome  persons 
were  "  Skinners,"  as  the  American  guerillas  were  agree 
ably  called.  A  very  unpleasant  discovery  this  to  a  British 
officer  travelling  in  disguise  from  the  American  lines.  So 
Arnold's  pass  was  produced,  but  with  little  effect  on  these 
highly  irregular  combatants.  Then  bribes  were  tried,  and 
Andre  thought  that  if  he  could  have  given  enough,  they 
would  have  released  him.  But  in  this  respect  results  at 
least  are  on  the  side  of  the  "  Skinners,"  who  were  three  in 
number,  and  named  respectively  Paulding,  Williams,  and 
Van  Wart.  They  searched  Andre,  found  the  fatal  papers 
in  his  boots,  and  Paulding,  being  able  to  read,  an  accom 
plishment  apparently  not  shared  by  his  companions,  at 
once  with  great  justice  pronounced  the  prisoner  a  spy,  and 
said  subsequently  that  after  finding  the  papers  ten  thousand 
guineas  would  not  have  bought  Andre's  freedom.  Cer 
tain  it  is  that  they  refused  his  very  handsome  offers,  took 
him  to  Northcastle,  and  won  a  secure  and  very  well-earned 
place  in  history  by  their  firm  and  intelligent  action. 

Colonel  Jamieson,  to  whom  they  delivered  their  cap 
tive,  was  either  less  intelligent  or  less  honest  than  the  rough 
free  lances  of  the  neutral  ground.  Charity  would  describe 
Colonel  Jamieson's  action  as  due  to  dulness,  and  exact,  frank 
justice  as  smacking  of  knavery.  History  has  been  guided 
by  charity  and  not  by  justice  in  this  respect,  but  of  the  utter 
stupidity  of  Jamieson's  action  on  the  charitable  hypothesis 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE 


483 


there  can  be  no  doubt.  He  ordered  that  Andre  be  taken 
to  Arnold's  head-quarters,  with  a  letter  from  himself  ex 
plaining  the  circumstances,  and  that  the  papers  be  sent  to 
Washington.  If  this  amiable  arrangement  had  been  car 
ried  out  all  would  have  gone  well,  and  Andre  would  have 
escaped.  But  luckily  intelligence  and  honesty  had  not 


THE  HOUSE  IN  WHICH  ANDRE  WAS 
IMPRISONED  IS  SHOWN  ON  THE 
LEFT  (ABOVE).  THE  ENCLOSED 
STONE  (BELOW)  MARKS  THE 
PLACE  WHERE  ANDRE  WAS  EX 
ECUTED. 


wholly  departed  from  Northcastle.  Major  Benjamin 
Tallmadge,  returning  from  a  scout,  saw  the  blunder  which 
had  been  committed  and  forced  Jamieson  to  recall  Andre 
and  his  escort,  although  he  could  not  prevent  the  despatch 
of  the  letter  to  Arnold.  Under  the  guard  of  Sergeant 
John  Dean  and  his  men,  vigilant  and  incorruptible,  Andre 
was  held  fast  and  taken  out  of  Jamieson's  reach  to  New 


484          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Salem.  When  the  young  officer  saw  that  the  game  was 
up  he  revealed  his  name  and  rank  and  wrote  a  letter  to 
Washington,  making  the  same  confession.  The  con 
spiracy  had  failed,  for  the  message  which  was  to  bring 
Clinton  and  the  British  fleet  had  been  stopped,  and  one 
of  the  conspirators  was  in  the  toils. 

At  West  Point,  however,  none  of  these  things  were 
known.  It  was  the  25th  of  September,  the  very  day 
upon  which  the  attack  was  to  be  made  and  the  post 
delivered,  and  Arnold  had  no  reason  to  think  that  all 
would  not  come  to  pass  as  he  had  planned.  Even  such 
a  hardened  and  reckless  man  as  Arnold  may  have  felt 
nevertheless  a  little  natural  nervousness  under  these  con 
ditions,  and  if  he  did,  the  first  event  of  the  day  was  not 
likely  to  console  him,  for  at  breakfast  appeared  Hamilton 
and  Me  Henry,  aides  of  the  Commander-in-Chief.  Wash 
ington  had  returned  sooner  than  had  been  expected,  and 
it  was  going  to  be  extremely  difficult  to  betray  West 
Point  before  his  very  eyes.  The  General  himself  had 
turned  off  to  look  at  some  redoubts,  and  telling  his  aides 
that  like  all  young  men  they  were  in  love  with  Mrs.  Ar 
nold,  had  bade  them  ride  on  to  the  Robinson  house.  So 
a  pleasant  party  sat  down  there  to  breakfast,  one  of  them 
revolving  many  things  in  his  mind  about  which  he  did 
not  converse.  Presently  a  note  was  brought  to  Arnold. 
He  read  it  with  but  slight  appearance  of  emotion,  said 
he  must  go  to  West  Point,  and  left  the  room.  The  note 
was  Jamieson's  letter.  The  plot  was  discovered,  and  all 
that  remained  was  flight.  To  his  wife,  who  followed 
him  from  the  room,  he  told  what  had  happened.  She 
fainted,  and  Arnold,  pausing  at  the  breakfast-room  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Arnold  was  ill,  rushed  from  the  house, 


ARNOLD    TELLS  HIS    WIFE   OF   THE  DISCOVERY   OF  HIS    TREASON, 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE  4«7 

flung  himself  into  his  barge,  and  under  pretence  of  a  flag 
of  truce  was  rowed  to  the  Vulture.  The  treason  had 
failed,  and  the  traitor  had  escaped. 

Soon  afterward,  Washington  came  to  the  house,  had 
a  hasty  breakfast,  and  went  over  to  West  Point  to  visit 
the  works.  When  he  reached  the  fort,  no  salute  broke 
the  quiet  of  the  morning,  no  guard  turned  out  to  receive 
him,  no  commandant  was  there  to  greet  him.  Surprised 
not  to  find  Arnold,  he  made  the  tour  of  the  works,  and 
then  returned  to  the  house,  to  be  met,  as  he  came  up  from 
the  river,  by  Hamilton  with  the  Jamieson  letter.  Wash 
ington  took  the  blow  with  the  iron  self-control  of  which 
he  alone  was  capable.  To  Lafayette  and  Knox,  when  he 
showed  them  the  letter,  he  merely  said,  "  Whom  can  we 
trust  now  ? "  for  the  idea  that  the  conspiracy  might  be 
wide-spread  was  that  which  first  absorbed  his  mind.  But 
there  was  no  confusion.  The  orders  went  thick  and  fast. 
Hamilton  was  sent  to  try  to  intercept  Arnold,  unfortu 
nately  too  late.  To  Wade  went  the  message:  "  Arnold 
has  gone  to  the  enemy.  You  are  in  command.  Be  vig 
ilant."  Every  precaution  was  taken,  every  arrangement 
made,  every  danger  guarded  against.  There  was  really 
little  need  of  such  care,  for  Arnold  had  no  accomplices. 
He  had  meant  to  have  no  sharer  in  the  rewards,  and  he 
had  no  partners  in  his  crime.  When  night  came,  Wash 
ington  said  to  Captain  Webster,  who  commanded  the 
guard,  "  I  believe  I  can  trust  you,"  and  the  son  of  that 
brave  New  Hampshire  soldier  in  all  his  brilliant  career 
never  won  a  higher  meed  of  praise.  Throughout  the 
night  the  sentry  outside  the  room  of  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  heard  him  pacing  up  and  down,  the  steady  footfall 
sounding  clearly  in  the  still  autumn  night.  Washington 


THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 


r,  Robinson's  House,  September  25,  y/6 


LETTER  FROM  GENERAL    WASHINGTON  TO    COLONEL    WADE,   APPRISING 
HIM  OF  ARNOLD'S    TREASON. 

(Reproduced  in  fac-sitnile  for  the  first  time  from   the   original  in    the  possession  of  Francis  H.  Wade,  Esq.,  e) 
ffsiuich,  Mass.,  a  grandson  of  Colonel  Wade.) 

had  said  nothing  and  done  everything  at  the  moment  the 
blow  fell,  but,  when  night  came  and  he  was  alone,  he 
could  neither  sleep  nor  rest.  It  was  not  alone  the  im 
minent  peril  to  his  cause  which  filled  his  mind,  but  the 
thought  of  the  traitor.  He  had  trusted  Arnold  because 
he  so  admired  his  fighting  qualities,  he  had  helped  him 
and  stood  by  him,  and  the  villain  had  sold  his  post,  tried 
to  wreck  the  Revolution,  and  fled  to  the  enemy.  It  was 


THE  TEST  OF  ENDURANCE 


489 


very  hard  to  bear  in  silenee,  but  all  Washington  said 
afterward  was  that  in  his  opinion  it  was  a  mistake  to 
suppose  that  Arnold  suffered  from  remorse,  because  he 
was  incapable  of  it. 

The  rest  of  the  story  is  easily  told.  Andre  was  tried 
and  condemned  as  a  spy.  No  other  verdict  was  possible. 
He  was  hanged,  and  met  his  death  with  the  perfect  cour 
age  of  a  well-bred  and  gallant  gentleman.  Joshua  Hett 
Smith,  the  cautious  and  elusive,  was  also  tried,  slipped 
through  the  fingers  of  justice,  and  lived  to  write,  many 
years  after,  an  account  of  the  conspiracy  from  his  own 


PART  OF  THE  GREAT  CHAIN  (NOW  IN  THE  COLLECTION  OF  RELICS  AT 
WEST  POINT)  WHICH  WAS  STRETCHED  ACROSS  THE  HUDSON  BETWEEN 
WEST  POINT  AND  CONSTITUTION  ISLAND  TO  OBSTRUCT  NA  VIGA  TION. 


Each   link  is  more  than  two  feet  long  and  weighs  one  hundred  and  forty  founds.      The  char 
place  by  a  series  of  logs  and  anchors. 


held  in 


point  of  view.  Arnold  received  his  reward  in  money  and 
rank,  served  in  the  British  army,  and  left  descendants 
who  in  England  rose  to  distinction  in  later  days.  Thus 
the  treason  came  to  naught.  If  it  had  succeeded  it 


490  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

would  have  been  a  grave  disaster,  but  would  it  not  have 
changed  essentially  the  course  or  outcome  of  the  Revolu 
tion.  It  failed,  and  had  no  result  whatever  except  upon 
the  two  conspirators.  There  hang  about  it  the  mystery 
and  attraction  which  always  attach  to  dark  plottings  preg 
nant  with  possibilities,  but  there  is  really  nothing  in  it  but 
the  individual  interest  which  is  inseparable  from  such  a 
fate  as  that  of  Andre,  and  such  an  unusual  exhibition  of 
cold  and  sordid  perfidy  as  that  of  Arnold. 

So  the  summer  ended.  No  military  operations  had 
been  attempted,  and  Clinton  had  tried  in  vain  to  sub 
stitute  bribery  and  treachery  for  a  campaign  in  the  field. 
The  French  had  arrived,  but,  despite  Washington's  efforts, 
all  combinations  for  an  active  movement  had  failed.  The 
„  second  stage  in  the  trial  of  endurance  had  closed,  and 

both  sides  retired  to  winter  quarters — Clinton  to  New 
York  and  Washington  to  New  Jersey,  where  he  pro 
vided  for  his  men  in  a  line  of  cantonments.  The  Ameri 
can  army  was  still  in  existence,  the  line  of  the  Hudson 
was  still  in  Washington's  unyielding  grasp,  and  the  last 
scene  of  the  war  was  about  to  open. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

YORKTOWN 

ANOTHER  summer  had  gone.  Another  winter 
was  to  be  faced.  It  was  well  for  America  that 
Arnold's  plot  had  failed,  but  nevertheless  there  was 
nothing  inspiriting  in  a  baffled  treason,  and  there  had  been 
no  fighting  and  no  victories  to  help  people  and  army  to  bear 
the  season  of  cold,  of  waiting,  and  of  privation  which  lay 
before  them.  When  Washington  retreated  through  the 
Jerseys,  in  1776,  it  looked  as  if  the  end  had  come  ;  but  at 
least  there  had  been  hard  fighting,  and  the  end  was  to  be 
met,  if  at  all,  in  the  open  field  with  arms  in  hand,  and  all 
the  chances  that  war  and  action  and  courage  could  give. 
Now,  four  years  later,  the  Revolution  seemed  to  be  going 
down  in  mere  inaction  through  the  utter  helplessness  of 
what  passed  for  the  central  Government.  To  those  who 
looked  beneath  the  surface  the  prospect  was  profoundly 
disheartening.  It  was  in  truth  a  very  dark  hour — perhaps 
the  darkest  of  the  whole  war.  To  Washington,  keenly  alive 
to  the  underlying  causes  of  the  situation,  and  laboring  for 
union  and  better  government,  even  while  he  bore  the  en 
tire  responsibility  of  the  military  operations,  the  outlook 
seemed  black  indeed.  No  matter  how  evil  the  military 
conditions,  no  matter  how  serious  the  defeats  and  checks 
in  the  field,  he  never  wavered  so  long  as  the  difficulties 


492  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

could-  be  met  by  fighting  the  enemy  on  any  terms.  But 
this  ruinous,  heart-breaking  waiting,  this  creeping  paralysis 
and  dry  rot  which  were  upon  the  Government,  wore 
upon  him  and  galled  him,  because  he  seemed  so  helpless 
in  dealing  with  them.  We  catch  a  note  in  his  letters  at 
this  time  never  to  be  found  at  any  other,  not  even  when 
he  declared  that,  in  the  event  of  final  British  victory,  he 
would  cross  the  mountains  to  found  a  new  state  and  begin 
a  fresh  struggle  in  the  Western  forests.  It  is  not  the  note 
of  hopeless  despair,  for  he  never  despaired,  but  there  is  a 
ring  of  bitterness  and  of  anger  in  his  words  very  rarely 
to  be  heard.  In  October,  1780,  he  wrote  :  "  Our  present 
distresses  are  so  great  and  complicated  that  it  is  scarcely 
within  the  powers  of  description  to  give  an  adequate  idea 
of  them.  With  regard  to  our  future  prospects,  unless 
there  is  a  material  change  both  in  our  civil  and  military 
policy,  it  will  be  in  vain  to  contend  much  longer.  We 
are  without  money,  without  provision  and  forage,  except 
\vhat  is  taken  by  impress,  without  clothing,  and  shortly 
shall  be,  in  a  manner,  without  men.  In  a  word,  we  have 
lived  upon  expedients  till  we  can  live  no  longer.  The 
history  of  this  war  is  a  history  of  temporary  devices  in 
stead  of  system,  and  economy  which  results  from  it." 

Then  follows  the  often  and  patiently  reiterated  advice 
as  to  the  improvements  and  changes  in  government  essen 
tial  if  the  contest  was  to  be  continued.  Congress  read 
these  letters  and,  as  usual,  did  little  or  nothing.  They 
passed  a  resolution  for  taxes  to  be  distributed  among  the 
States,  and  that  was  all.  Resolutions  advising  reluctant 
and  independent  States  to  pay  money  were  well-inten 
tioned  things  after  their  kind,  but  wholly  visionary,  with 
no  reality,  no  actual  meaning  to  them.  They  were  small 


YORKTOWN  493 

comfort  to  the  General  of  the  hungry,  half-clothed,  dwind 
ling  army  who  was  dealing  with  things  exactly  as  they 
were.  Presently  what  Washington  foresaw  and  dreaded 
came  to  pass.  A  portion  of  the  Pennsylvania  line  in 
quarters  at  Morristown  revolted,  attacked  their  officers, 
and  marched  to  Princeton.  Here  was  something  not  to 
be  avoided,  not  to  be  met  by  debate  and  resolutions.  It 
was  a  hard,  ugly  fact  ;  it  looked  Congress  angrily  in  the 
face,  and  Congress  was  not  so  used  to  facts  as  their  Gen 
eral.  In  much  anxiety  a  committee  was  hastily  appointed, 
with  Sullivan  at  its  head,  and  betook  itself  to  Princeton, 
together  with  Reed,  the  President  of  Pennsylvania,  to 
meet  the  mutineers.  Washington  had  started  to  come 
himself  ;  but  the  suspicion  born  of  Arnold's  treason  woke 
once  more  into  life,  men  began  to  doubt  about  the  other 
troops,  and  he  decided  that  he  ought  to  remain  where  he 
was  and  leave  the  matter  with  Congress.  Reed  and  the 
committee  promptly  yielded  to  the  demands  of  the  muti 
neers,  who  thereupon  gave  up  Clinton's  emissaries  to  a 
deserved  execution  as  spies.  This  was  all  very  well,  but 
the  Congressional  method  of  quelling  mutiny  soon  bore  its 
natural  fruit.  Part  of  the  New  Jersey  line  followed  the 
evil  example  set  and  revolted,  expecting  to  achieve  the 
same  results  as  their  fellow-soldiers  of  Pennsylvania.  But 
Washington,  by  this  time,  had  had  quite  enough  of  the 
Congressional  system  ;  he  came  to  the  scene  of  disorder 
himself,  crushed  the  mutiny  with  a  strong  hand,  and  that 
particular  danger  was  over. 

The  mutiny  in  reality  was  but  the  expression,  in  rough, 
inarticulate  fashion,  of  the  hatred  of  wrong,  injustice,  and 
suffering  inflicted  on  the  army  and  on  the  Revolution  by 
the  imbecility  of  the  Government.  It  said,  in  a  rude,  em- 


494  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

phatic  way,  what  Washington  had  been  saying  over  and 
over  again,  by  word  of  mouth  and  countless  letters.  It 
declared  harshly  that  the  Government  of  Congress  was  a 
failure  ;  that  the  Confederation  which  had  been  formed, 
and  at  last  agreed  to,  was  no  better  ;  that  American  sol 
diers  were  ready  to  fight,  but  that  they  could  not  carry  on 
war  without  arms,  clothing,  money,  or  recruits.  The  man 
with  the  musket  was  getting  to  the  point  where  he  meant 
to  be  fed,  even  if  others  starved — a  perilous  point  for  in 
efficient  rulers  at  all  times.  Better  government  was  de 
manded,  a  government  which  could  act  and  execute  and 
do  something ;  and  Congress  replied  by  futile  efforts  to 
obtain  for  itself  power  to  levy  a  duty  from  customs,  and 
had  much  talk  and  debate,  but  no  other  result.  Very 
clearly  the  American  Revolution  was  getting  into  sore 
straits.  After  having  won  in  the  field  it  was  in  imminent 
danger  of  going  ingloriously  to  pieces  because  the  thirteen 
States  could  not  bring  forth  a  government  that  would 
govern.  It  is  an  unpleasant  picture  of  inefficiency  to  look 
back  upon,  due  to  local  prejudices,  State-rights,  and  an 
inability  to  rise  to  the  heights  of  union  and  achievement. 
The  worst  of  it  was  that  nothing  could  be  done.  No 
new  and  efficient  government  could  be  created  in  time  to 
work.  The  hard  problem  was  how  to  win  victory  before 
chaos  came,  with  the  broken  instruments  which  alone 
could  be  had.  To  young  Laurens,  going  abroad,  Wash 
ington  wrote  that  our  only  hope  was  in  financial  aid  from 
Europe  ;  without  it  the  next  campaign  would  flicker  out 
and  the  Revolution  die.  Money  and  superiority  of  sea- 
power,  he  cried,  were  what  we  must  have.  To  the  man 
who  believed  that  the  Revolution  to  be  worth  winning 
must  be  won  by  Americans,  this  confession  must  have 


YORKTOWN  495 

brought  exceeding  great  bitterness  of  soul.  It  casts  a 
flood  of  light  on  the  darkness  and  doubt  and  peril  of  that 
unhappy  time  when  the  new  year  of  1781  was  just  begin 
ning  and  the  American  Revolution  was  dragging  and 
grounding  on  the  shoals  of  broken  finances  and  a  helpless 
Government. 

Fortunately  for  America,  the  sole  dependence  of  the 
Revolution  was  not  upon  Congress.  Social  efficiency, 
expressed  in  civil  government,  had  broken  down  wofully 
under  the  long  stress  of  war,  waged  by  weak  and  inco 
herent  States  against  a  powerful  and  centralized  empire. 
But  when  organized  society  failed,  the  spirit  of  individual 
enterprise,  so  strong  in  this  new  land,  stepped  in  and  took 
up  the  burden  as  best  it  might,  very  manfully  and  ener 
getically  struggling  with  a  task  beyond  its  powers,  but 
still  capable  of  at  least  some  partial  solution.  This  was 
what  happened  now  in  Philadelphia.  Robert  Morris, 
born  in  England,  and  coming  to  this  country  as  a  boy, 
had  raised  himself  from  poverty  to  wealth,  and  was  a  rich 
merchant  in  the  Quaker  town.  He  had  given  himself  to 
his  adopted  country,  and  was  a  patriotic,  energetic  man, 
with  strong  faith  in  the  American  cause,  and  great  con 
fidence  in  Washington.  Congress  had  undertaken  to 
establish  certain  executive  departments  with  single  heads 
to  take  the  place  of  their  own  committees — a  gleam  of 
practical  sense  in  the  midst  of  much  vain  talk  and  resolv 
ing.  In  December,  1780,  they  made  Morris  Superin 
tendent  of  Finances,  a  dreary  office  where  there  were 
demands  to  be  met  and  constant  outgo,  with  but  little 
or  nothing  to  come  in,  and  no  means  of  imposing  taxes 
or  enforcing  their  collection.  Nevertheless  Morris  took 
the  office  and  faced  the  situation  bravely.  He  at  once 


496  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

organized  a  bank,  to  which  he  subscribed  largely  himself, 
and  this  gave  the  country  some  intelligent  machinery  for 
financial  operations.  With  him  in  his  heavy  task  was 
associated  Gouverneur  Morris,  of  the  old  New  York 
family  of  that  name,  no  relation  in  blood  to  Robert,  but 
like  him  in  patriotism  and  energy,  possessed  of  high  and 
indomitable  courage  and  keen  wit,  with  a  good  deal  of 
hearty  contempt  in  his  soul  for  the  blundering  and  the 
ineffective  people  of  this  world,  of  whom  at  that  moment, 
and  in  that  place,  he  had  examples  enough  before  him.  It 
was  Gouverneur  Morris  who  wrote  "  Finance.  Ah,  my 
friend,  all  that  is  left  of  the  American  Revolution  grounds 
there."  In  this  temper  these  two  men  took  hold  of  what 
by  courtesy  was  called  the  Treasury  of  the  Confederation. 
They  got  some  order  out  of  the  existing  confusion.  That 
in  itself  was  much.  But  they  did  even  more.  By  strain 
ing  their  own  credit,  by  the  bank,  by  foreign  loans,  by  one 
expedient  after  another  they  in  part  effected  what  the  Gov 
ernment  ought  to  have  done,  and  they  raised  some  money. 
It  was  a  mighty  assistance  to  Washington,  and  one  can  im 
agine  the  relief  it  must  have  been  to  have  men  to  deal  with 
who  were  trying,  however  imperfectly,  to  get  something 
real  done  instead  of  contenting  themselves  with  debates 
and  resolutions,  and  other  well-meant  nothings,  when  the 
times  cried  loudly  and  imperatively  for  deeds,  not  words. 
He  was  enabled  at  last,  feeble  as  the  relief  was,  to  get 
something  also,  in  a  military  way,  and  it -was  none  too 
soon,  for  the  war,  which  had  died  down  to  nothing  in  the 
North,  was  beginning  to  flame  up  in  a  new  quarter. 

When  Greene  made  his  great  move,  and  marched 
South,  striking  in  between  the  forces  under  Rawdofi  and 
the  main  army  under  Cornwallis,  he  knew  very  well  that 


YORKTOWN 


497 


one  of  two  things  must  happen,  and  this  choice,  which  he 
forced  upon  his  antagonist,  is  one  of  his  chief  claims  to 
distinction  as  a  soldier. 
Cornwallis  was  obliged  either 
to  follow  Greene,  in  which 
case  his  campaign  was  con 
fined  to  the  southern  extrem 
ity  of  the  American  Colo 
nies,  was  an  obvious  failure, 
and  ceased  at  once  to  be 
formidable,  or  else  he  must 
leave  Rawdon  to  his  fate 
with  Greene,  and  press  on 
toward  the  North,  as  he 
originally  intended.  Neither 

O  J 

course    was   pleasant,    and   it         CHARLES,  EARL  CORNWALLIS. 

.  .     .  After  an  engraving  by  F.  Hau>ard,  published  in  1784. 

was  not  intended  that  either 

should  be,  but  he  chose,  probably  wisely,  and  as  Greene 
anticipated,  the  latter  alternative.  By  so  doing  he  left 
Greene  a  free  hand  to  redeem  the  Southern  States,  but 
he  entered  himself  upon  the  populous  and  rich  State 
of  Virginia,  which  was  quite  undefended,  and  which,  un 
touched,  had  been  a  strong  resource  and  support  to  the 
general  cause  of  the  Revolution.  It  is  true  that  every 
step  of  his  advance  brought  him  nearer,  as  Greene  well 
knew,  to  the  main  continental  army  under  Washington, 
but  this  seemed  to  Cornwallis  a  remote  danger,  if  he 
thought  of  it  at  all.  He  was  encouraged  by  the  plaudits 
and  favor  of  the  Ministry,  who  praised  his  work  in  the 
South,  and  held  him  up  as  the  one  thoroughly  successful 
general.  Clinton,  of  course,  as  Cornwallis  thought,  would 
hold  Washington  where  he  was,  the  Ministry  would  back 


498  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

him  up,  and  he  would  pass  from  the  disagreeable  work  of 
failing  to  catch  or  defeat  Greene,  to  the  agreeable  business 
of  sweeping  through  Virginia,  and  breaking  the  Con 
federation  in  twain  at  a  vital  point. 

He  was,  however,  not  the  first  in  the  new  field.  Clin 
ton,  in  his  inert  way,  had  already  cast  his  eyes  in  that  direc 
tion,  and,  in  1779,  had  sent  one  of  his  useless  expeditions 
to  raid  and  plunder,  and  return  without  results,  which  was 
apparently  his  permanent  theory  of  the  way  in  which  a  war 
of  conquest  should  be  conducted.  The  next  year  he  sent 
Leslie,  who  was  to  cut  off  supplies  from  the  American 
army  in  the  South,  make  a  strong  diversion  in  this  way, 
and  thus  co-operate  with  and  help  Cornwallis.  Unfortu 
nately,  the  men  from  across  the  mountains  inconsider 
ately  came  over  just  at  that  time,  fought  the  battle  of 
King's  Mountain,  and  compelled  Leslie  to  withdraw  at 
once  with  his  fleet  and  army,  and  go  directly  to  the  sup 
port  and  reinforcement  of  Cornwallis.  Now,  again  stung 
into  action  by  the  praises  which  the  Ministry  heaped 
on  Cornwallis,  and  spurred  by  jealousy,  he  determined  to 
be  beforehand  with  his  younger  and  more  successful  rival, 
and  sent  another  of  his  pet  expeditions,  strong  enough  to 
rob  and  burn  and  to  defeat  small  parties  of  militia,  but  too 
weak  to  conquer  or  hold  the  country.  This  third  expedi 
tion  was  entrusted  to  Arnold,  whose  treason  had  in  nowise 
diminished  his  activity,  and  who  pushed  rapidly  on  into 
the  interior  of  Virginia.  Steuben,  left  behind  by  Greene, 
wisely  refused  to  sacrifice  his  little  force  against  a  very 
superior  enemy,  and  kept  on  the  south  side  of  the  James 
River,  while  Arnold  pressed  rapidly  forward  to  Rich 
mond.  His  march  was  practically  unimpeded,  for  Vir 
ginia  had  been  generously  giving  men  and  supplies  to  the 


YORKTOWN  499 

Southern  campaign,  and  there  were  no  suitable  prepara 
tions  for  her  own  defence.  Jefferson,  now  Governor,  on 
the  arrival  of  the  enemy  did  some  violent  ridings  to  and 
fro,  tried,  in  a  rather  hysterical  way,  to  do  the  work  of 
weeks  in  a  few  hours,  and  quite  naturally  failed.  Arnold, 
moving  fast,  offered,  with  his  characteristic  mercantile 
spirit,  to  spare  Richmond  if  he  could  be  allowed  to  take 
off  the  stores  of  tobacco.  This  was  refused,  and  he  then 
burned  houses,  destroyed  all  the  property  he  could,  and 
after  failing  to  capture  the  arms  at  Westham,  returned 
down  the  river  to  Portsmouth.  Clinton's  third  raid  was 
over,  with  a  net  result  of  one  unlucky  Governor  much 
disturbed,  and  some  houses  and  tobacco  burned  ;  but  his 
zeal,  now  fired  with  emulation,  was  not  as  usual  content 
with  this  performance  as  sufficient  for  a  year's  campaign. 
In  March  he  sent  a  fresh  and  strong  detachment  of  two 
thousand  men  to  Virginia,  and  a  month  later,  another. 
The  first  body  was  led  by  General  Phillips,  who  joined 
Arnold  and  took  command  of  the  combined  forces. 

Meantime  other  eyes  than  those  of  Clinton  had  begun 
to  look  with  interest  upon  Virginia.  To  Washington  the 
raiding  of  Arnold  in  his  native  State  was  particularly  odi 
ous,  and  he  had  moreover  an  intense  desire  to  capture  the 
traitor,  upon  whom  he  was  profoundly  anxious  to  execute 
justice,  for  he  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  law  of  compensa 
tion  and  had  no  feeble  tenderness  about  punishing  crim 
inals.  With  this  purpose  in  view  he  detached  Lafayette, 
with  twelve  hundred  continentals,  to  go  to  Virginia  in  pur 
suit  of  Arnold.  Lafayette  slipped  away  with  his  men  and 
got  safely  and  quickly  to  Annapolis,  where  he  was  to  be 
met  by  the  French  fleet  from  Newport  and  convoyed  to 
Portsmouth.  All  had  gone  as  Washington  had  planned 


500          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

it.  Arnold,  penned  up  at  Portsmouth  by  the  Virginia 
militia,  would  have  fallen  an  easy  prey  to  an  enemy  in 
control  of  both  land  and  sea  ;  but  the  French  fleet  fell 
in  with  that  of  the  British,  under  Arbuthnot,  off  the  capes 
of  the  Chesapeake,  where  an  action  ensued.  Both  sides 
claimed  the  victory,  and  the  result  was  what  is  usually 
described  in  polite  historic  phrase  as  indecisive,  but  the 
British  won,  for  the  French  were  obliged  to  return  to 
Newport  and  Arbuthnot  held  the  Chesapeake.  No  con 
voy  therefore  for  Lafayette  and  his  men  ;  no  capturing  of 
traitors  this  time  ;  all  these  things  quite  obvious  and  no 
doubt  very  disappointing  and  even  grievous  to  the  young 
Frenchman,  always  eager  for  fighting  and  glory.  So  he 
turned  northward,  thinking  that  he  had  marched  many 
miles  in  vain.  When,  at  the  head  of  Elk,  however,  he 
was  met  by  orders  to  return  South  and  act  with  Greene. 
Watching  Virginia,  Washington  had  detected  signs  of 
events  which  might  be  crucial  in  their  developments  and 
which  called  up  visions  of  possible  successes  so  large  as  to 
make  the  capture  of  an  escaped  traitor  seem  trivial  indeed. 
The  despatch  of  Phillips,  at  the  head  of  two  thousand 
men,  with  a  probability  of  more  to  follow,  gave  an  im 
portance  to  the  situation  in  Virginia  which  it  had  not 
before  possessed.  Washington  knew  Clinton  too  well  to 
suppose  that  that  gallant  gentleman  had  any  comprehen 
sive  or  far-reaching  plan  in  sending  a  series  of  detach 
ments  to  the  Chesapeake,  or  that  there  was,  in  the  mind 
of  the  British  general,  any  intention  beyond  that  of  many 
other  similar  expeditions  previously  projected  into  space 
apparently  just  for  luck.  But  he  also  knew  that  these 
successive  detachments  meant,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the 
accumulation  of  a  considerable  mass  of  men  in  Virginia. 


YORKTOWN  501 

Quite  clear  it  was  also  that  Cornwallis,  to  the  southward, 
was  not  far  from  the  Virginia  line  and  was  heading 
northward.  Washington  had  not  yet  heard  of  the  battle 
of  Guilford,  or  of  the  bold  movement  by  which  Greene 
had  thrust  himself  between  the  two  British  divisions  and 
was  carrying  the  war  to  the  South.  But  it  was  plain  to 
him  that  the  chances  all  favored  the  advance  of  Corn 
wallis  to  the  North,  and  his  consequent  junction  with 
Clinton's  detachments.  That  meant  a  strong  army  in 
Virginia.  If  Greene  was  at  the  heels  of  Cornwallis,  then 
he  must  be  strengthened.  If  he  was  not,  then  arrange 
ments  must  be  made  to  reach  the  latter  from  the  North. 
An  army  of  the  enemy  was  gathering  in  Virginia  so  large 
as  to  not  merely  threaten  the  country  at  a  central  point, 
but  to  offer  probably  an  opportunity,  if  rightly  managed, 
to  win  a  victory  as  decisive  as  that  of  Saratoga.  There 
was  a  strong  indication  that  the  vital  point  in  the  war 
might  suddenly  shift  to  Virginia,  and  preparation  there 
fore  must  be  made  so  that  either  he  himself  or  Greene 
might  be  in  a  position  to  take  advantage  of  it.  It  was 
only  a  chance  as  yet,  but  it  was  a  great  possibility,  and 
tentative  movements  must  be  begun  in  order  to  seize  the 
opportunity  if  it  really  came.  Hence  the  orders  to  Lafa 
yette.  Hence,  later  further  orders  to  Wayne  to  join  Lafa 
yette  with  some  of  the  Pennsylvania  line,  and  later  still, 
much  larger  and  more  conclusive  undertakings  as  the  pos 
sibilities  of  the  winter  of  1781  ripened  into  certainty. 

Lafayette  was  well  chosen  to  do  the  work  immediately 
in  hand,  for  he  was  brave,  generous,  energetic,  and  quick 
in  movement.  By  pledging  his  own  credit  he  obtained 
shoes  and  clothes  in  Baltimore  for  his  troops,  and  then 
making  a  forced  march  he  reached  Richmond  and  took 


502          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

possession  of  the  city.  He  was  only  just  in  time,  a  mere 
twenty-four  hours  ahead  of  the  enemy,  but  still  he  was  in 
time.  Phillips  and  Arnold,  marching  up  the  river,  had 
forced  Steuben  to  retreat  from  Blandford,  and  pressing  on 
arrived  at  Richmond  too  late.  Lafayette  was  there,  too 
strongly  posted  to  be  attacked,  and  the  British  fell  back 
down  the  river,  ascending  again  and  reoccupying  Peters 
burg  on  the  receipt  of  news  that  Cornwallis  was  coming. 
On  May  i3th  Phillips  died,  and  Arnold,  being  in  com 
mand,  undertook  to  open  a  correspondence  with  Lafa 
yette.  The  young  Frenchman  refused  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  him  on  the  unpleasant  ground  that  he  was  a 
traitor,  which  exasperated  Arnold,  who  began  to  threaten 
ugly  reprisals,  when  Cornwallis  appeared,  and  having  no 
liking  for  the  betrayer  of  West  Point,  sent  him  back  to  New 
York.  Thence  Arnold  went  on  one  more  plundering, 
burning  raid  into  Connecticut,  which  ended  with  the  capt 
ure  and  destruction  of  New  London  and  the  murder  of 
Colonel  Ledyard  and  seventy-three  of  his  soldiers  after 
they  had  surrendered.  With  this  appropriate  exploit  per 
formed  by  the  troops  under  his  command,  Arnold  dis 
appeared  for  the  rest  of  his  life  from  the  history  which  he 
had  soiled  and  blackened,  and  served  in  obscurity  the  king 
who  had  bought  him. 

Cornwallis,  rid  of  Arnold  and  with  seven  thousand  men 
now  under  his  command,  set  himself  at  once  to  cut  off 
Lafayette  and  prevent  his  junction  with  Wayne,  who,  af 
ter  many  delays,  was  now  coming  to  Virginia,  in  obedience 
to  Washington's  orders.  Lafayette,  however,  had  not  been 
brought  up  in  the  school  of  Washington  and  Greene  in 
vain.  Holding  his  little  army  well  in  hand,  he  moved  with 
such  judgment  and  rapidity  that  he  entirely  evaded  Corn- 


YORKTOWN 


503 


wallis  and  effected  his  junction  successfully  with  Wayne  at 
a  point  on  the  Rapidan.  While  he  was  thus  escaping,  the 
British  general,  baffled  in  his  main  object,  sent  out  two 
expeditions,  one  under  Simcoe  and  one  under  Tarleton. 
The  first  forced  Steuben,  who  thought  the  main  army  was 
upon  him,  to  retire  in  haste  and  leave  the  stores  which  he 
was  guarding  at  the  Point  of  Fork  to  the  enemy.  The 


HALL  IN  CARTER'S    GROVE,    AN    OLD    COLONIAL    MANSION    ON    THE    JAMES 

RIVER. 

The  balustrade  still  bears  deep  crits  made   by   the  sabres   of  Tarleton' s  troopers  -when  the  land  -was  raided  by 
them  on  their  way  to   Yorktown. 

second  was  intended  to  capture  the  State  officers  of  Vir 
ginia,  who,  warned  in  time,  made  good  their  escape.  Jef 
ferson  had  but  short  notice,  only  five  minutes,  tradition 
says,  but  enough  to  get  upon  his  horse  and  gallop  away  to 
the  woods  and  into  the  hills.  Net  results  of  all  this  again 
is  easily  stated,  and  consisted  of  some  military  stores  and 
one  runaway  Governor.  The  two  expeditions  are  quite 
Clintonian  in  conception,  execution,  and  outcome,  and 
show  how  far  the  inert  dulness  which  thought  to  conquer 


504 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


a  continent  by  raids  had  come  to  reign  supreme  in  the  Brit 
ish  military  mind. 

While  Cornwallis  was  thus  idly  beating  the  air  with 
parties  of  horse  and  foot,  scattering  about  the  country 
to  capture  stores,  and  catch  civil  officers,  Lafayette, 
strengthened  by  the  contingent  under  Wayne,  marched 


THE    HOME     OF    THE    PRESIDENT    OF    WILLIAM   AND    MARY    COLLEGE    AT 

WILLIAMSBURG,    VA. 

Used  by  Cormuallis  as  his  head-quarters  in  the  campaign  preceding-  Yorkto-un. 

down  against  the  main  British  army.  By  a  quick 
movement  he  got  between  Cornwallis  and  the  stores 
at  Richmond,  and  the  former  then  began  to  retire  down 
the  river  with  the  Americans  following  him.  By  the 
end  of  June  the  British  were  at  Williamsburg.  Then 
came  an  indecisive  skirmish  between  detachments  under 
Simcoe  on  the  one  side  and  Butler,  sent  out  by  Lafayette, 
on  the  other.  As  the  enemy  continued  to  fall  back  toward 


YORKTOWN  505 

the  coast  Lafayette  determined  to  give  them  battle  at  the 
crossing  of  the  James  and  advanced  to  Green  Spring 
where  Wayne  attacked  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  and 
also,  as  was  likewise  not  unusual  with  him,  a  little  too 
soon.  He  supposed  that  he  had  only  a  detachment  to  deal 
with,  when,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  main  body  of  the  en 
emy  was  still  on  the  north  side  and  in  his  immediate  front. 
Once  engaged,  however,  Wayne  faced  his  difficulties  and 
his  very  superior  foe  with  his  usual  dash  and  daring  and 
charged  the  British  line.  Lafayette  came  gallantly  to  his 
support,  and  between  them  they  checked  the  enemy  and 
brought  their  army  off  in  safety  from  a  most  perilous  situ 
ation.  The  American  loss  was  118  in  killed,  wounded, 
and  missing  ;  the  British  lost  in  killed  and  wounded  75. 
It  was  a  sharp  and  well-fought  action,  and  despite  the  mis 
take  at  the  beginning,  the  army  was  handled  with  skill  and 
courage  by  the  American  generals.  After  the  battle  Lafa 
yette  withdrew  to  Malvern,  destined  to  a  much  greater  fame 
and  much  harder  fighting  in  a  then  distant  future,  and 
there  rested  his  men.  Cornwallis,  on  his  side,  continued 
his  retreat  to  the  coast,  sent  out  Tarleton  on  the  conven 
tional  raid  into  Bedford  County,  which  had  the  conventional 
results  in  fire  and  destruction,  withdrew  to  Portsmouth, 
and  thence  betook  himself,  on  August  ist,  to  Yorktown, 
where,  by  the  Qth,  he  had  all  his  army  assembled  about  him, 
and  where  he  began  to  intrench  himself  and  build  strong 
works  of  defence. 

It  was  the  first  week  in  August  when  Cornwallis  thus 
took  possession  of  Yorktown  and  Gloucester.  His  north 
ern  movement  had  failed.  He  had  left  the  Carolinas  open 
to  Greene  and  could  not  return  thither.  Clinton's  jealousy 
and  vacillation  had  weakened  his  force,  and  now  had  the 


505  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

solid  result  of  preventing  his  reinforcement.  That  Corn- 
wallis  was  uneasy  is  clear,  although  how  fully  he  under 
stood  the  perils  of  his  own  position  cannot  now  be  ab 
solutely  determined.  But  if  he  himself  did  not  measure 
accurately  his  own  conditions,  there  was  an  opponent  far 
away  to  the  North  who  perfectly  apprehended  both  the 
situation  and  all  its  possibilities. 

To  Washington  it  had  been  perfectly  clear  for  many 
months,  that  within  the  year  now  passing  into  summer  a 
decisive  blow  must  be  struck  or  the  Revolution,  if  it  did 
not  go  hopelessly  to  pieces,  would  certainly  fail  of  complete 
and  true  success.  The  conditions  of  his  problem,  from 
the  military  point  of  view,  were  plain.  With  the  allied 
French  and  his  own  army  he  must  strike  the  English 
and  destroy  one  of  their  principal  armies  by  bringing  an 
overwhelming  superiority  of  numbers  to  bear  at  the  point 
of  contact.  To  do  this  the  command  of  the  sea  was  vitally 
necessary,  if  only  for  a  short  time,  and  that  command  could 
be  had  only  through  the  French  fleet.  As  the  year  1 780 
was  closing  Washington  considered  carefully  a  plan  for 
combining  with  the  Spaniards  in  the  seizure  of  Florida, 
and  thence  advancing  through  Georgia  and  taking  the 
British  forces,  against  which  Greene  was  operating,  in  the 
rear.  Rochambeau  objected,  and  the  plan  is  now  of  inter 
est  merely  as  showing  how  Washington  was  scanning  the 
whole  country  and  devising  every  possible  plan  to  meet 
the  emergency  and  deal  the  fatal  blow.  His  time  was 
limited,  short  even,  and  he  knew  it.  If  the  Revolution 
was  to  be  won,  as  he  wanted  to  win  it,  it  must  be  done 
within  the  twelvemonth,  and  he  meant  that  it  should  be. 
For  this  reason  every  possible  scheme  was  considered,  so 
that  no  chance  should  slip  by. 


YORKTOWN 


507 


The  Florida  plan  came  to  nothing.  Then  mutiny 
reared  its  head  ;  ugly,  threatening,  but  not  without  use  in 
frightening  Congress  and  in 
leading  to  some  displays  of 
energy.  With  the  mutinies  put 
down,  Congress  awakened  and 
Robert  Morris  fighting  the 
financial  difficulties,  the  spring 
opened  a  little  more  brightly 
in  matters  domestic.  Then  in 
May  came  news  of  De  Barras 
with  a  French  squadron  at 
Newport,  six  hundred  more 
men  for  De  Rochambeau,  and, 
what  was  far  more  important, 
sure  tidings  of  the  sailing  of  a 
powerful  fleet  under  De  Grasse 
to  the  West  Indies.  The  factors  in  Washington's  problem 
were  getting  nearer,  the  instruments  he  must  use  were 
coming  within  reach  of  his  hand.  How  was  it  going  to 
be  possible  to  bring  them  all  together  and  produce  the 
great  result  ? 

The  first  real  step  was  a  consultation  with  De  Rocham 
beau  at  Wethersfield  in  Connecticut  on  May  2ist.  There 
it  was  decided  to  move  on  New  York  if  De  Grasse  would 
co-operate.  There,  too,  was  the  plan  of  moving  South 
against  Cornwallis  discussed.  Hence  a  claim  from  De 
Rochambeau  that  the  Virginia  campaign  was  his  idea,  and 
eagerness  on  the  part  of  the  modern  antiquarian,  to  whom 
any  view  is  distasteful  if  it  is  accepted,  to  prove  that  the 
French  General  thought  of  Virginia  and  not  Washington. 
Very  idle  arguing  and  conjecturing  all  this.  Washington 


COMPTE  DE  ROCHAMBEAU. 

From  a  portrait  by  C.  W.  Peale,  1781. 


5o8  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

had  been  thinking  not  only  of  Virginia  long  before  De 
Rochambeau  knew  aught  about  it,  but  of  Florida  too,  and 
New  York.  He  was  thinking  of  every  place  where  there 
was  an  English  army,  and  of  every  combination  which 
might  result  in  the  complete  destruction  of  one  of  them. 
He  was  wedded  to  no  plan,  and  to  no  one  place.  The 
point  at  which  he  could  combine  land  and  sea  power  was 
the  only  point  at  which  he  aimed,  and  those  conditions 
once  fulfilled  his  campaign  was  made  for  him.  Naturally 
he  thought  first  of  New  York,  which  he  had  been  watch 
ing  so  long,  and  where  the  principal  hostile  army  was 
posted.  Perhaps  he  could  get  the  fleet  there,  and  then  the 
work  would  be  done.  Perhaps  he  could  not,  and  then 
Clinton,  threatened  by  the  allied  forces,  would  be  at  least 
debarred  by  his  presence  from  helping  Cornwallis. 

So,  on  June  i8th,  the  French  left  Rhode  Island  and 
joined  Washington.  On  July  2d  an  attack  was  attempted 
on  the  forts  on  the  upper  end  of  Manhattan  Island  and 
failed.  Then  followed  a  reconnoissance  in  force  with  a 
distinct  result  of  alarming  Clinton  to  such  extent  that 
no  more  men  were  sent  to  Virginia,  and  orders  went  in 
stead  to  recall  troops  already  there.  It  was  not  in  vain, 
therefore,  that  the  first  movement  had  been  made  against 
New  York,  and  the  importance  of  the  effect  on  Clin 
ton  soon  became  manifest,  for  a  great  alteration  was  at 
hand  in  the  conditions  of  the  campaign.  The  change 
came  in  a  note  from  De  Grasse  stating  that  he  would 
enter  the  Chesapeake  with  a  view  to  a  combination 
against  Cornwallis,  as  suggested  by  De  Rochambeau.  He 
said  his  time  would  be  short ;  that  he  could  not  remain 
long  on  the  coast.  The  great  moment  had  come,  brief, 
fleeting,  to  be  seized  at  all  hazards.  Washington  did  not 


YORKTOWN  509 

hesitate.  New  York  was  naturally  the  object  first  in  his 
mind,  evidently  the  most  important  place  in  America,  that 
which  he  had  hemmed  in  so  long  in  order  to  prevent  the 
movement  up  the  Hudson.  Clinton  and  New  York  were 
worth  more  than  Cornwallis  in  a  post  of  no  value,  but  he 
could  not  get  De  Grasse  to  New  York,  the  fleet  was  essen 
tial  and  Cornwallis  would  do. 

The  probable  need  of  going  South  had  been  plain  to 
Washington's  mind  some  time  before  the  decisive  letter 
had  come  from  De  Grasse.  On  August  2d  he  had  written 
that  the  arrival  of  troops  made  New  York  perhaps  imprac 
ticable,  and  that  it  might  be  necessary  to  go  South,  thus 
preparing  Congress  for  the  contingency  daily  growing  into 
a  certainty.  After  it  was  known  that  De  Grasse  had 
turned  finally  to  the  Chesapeake  no  time  was  lost.  Then 
it  was  that  Washington  began  to  move,  and  that  letters 
went  to  the  New  England  governors  pleading  for  troops 
with  an  earnestness  beyond  even  that  which  he  was  wont  to 
use.  So  too  went  demands  for  money  to  Robert  Morris, 
who  manfully  did  his  best,  which  was  but  little,  but  still 
something.  Slender  funds,  no  proper  means  of  transpor 
tation,  apathetic  States,  and  a  central  Government  almost  to 
tally  impotent,  were  harsh  conditions  for  a  general  obliged 
to  carry  troops  over  three  hundred  miles  to  the  southward, 
and  very  quickly,  too,  if  he  \vas  to  win  his  prize.  Then, 
too,  in  another  direction  the  weakness  of  human  nature 
seemed  likely  to  wound  mortally  the  great  scheme  at  its 
most  vital  point.  De  Barras,  at  Boston,  with  the  French 
squadron  assigned  regularly  to  the  American  station,  was 
an  important  factor  in  the  situation.  But  De  Barras,  the 
senior  in  rank,  was  nettled  by  his  junior,  De  Grasse,  having 
command  of  the  great  fleet  fresh  from  France.  His  orders 


5io 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


gave  him  an  independent  command,  and  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  sail  away  to  the  northward,  and  leave  De  Grasse 
unassisted.  This  was  something  to  be  prevented  at  all 
hazards,  and  a  very  skilfully  drawn  and  urgent  letter  went 
on  signed  by  both  Washington  and  De  Rochambeau. 


YORK  RIVER,  SEEN  FROM    THE  INNER  BRITISH    WORKS,  AND   LOOKING 
TOWARD  GLOUCESTER  POINT. 

The  map  shows  the  position  of  the  French  and  British  ships  at  the  time  of  the  siege. 

The  appeal  was  successful,  De  Barras  relented,  yielded  per 
sonal  feelings  to  the  good  of  the  cause,  and  sailed  shortly 
after  from  Newport  with  a  siege-train  and  tools,  taking  a 
wide  sweep  to  avoid  the  British. 

Thus  one  great  peril  was  passed.  De  Barras  mollified 
and  secured,  Washington  turned  his  whole  attention  to 
making  a  rapid  march  to  the  South.  His  movements 


YORKTOWN  Sir 

about  New  York,  although  not  carried  out  to  their  original 
conclusion,  were  by  no  means  wasted.  They  served  ad 
mirably  to  annoy  Clinton,  fill  him  with  alarm,  and  cause 
him  not  only  to  withhold  reinforcements  from  Cornwallis, 
but  aided  by  his  personal  jealousy  they  led  him  to  order 
more  troops  back  from  Virginia.  Washington  thus  turned 
his  attack  on  New  York  into  a  feint,  and  used  it  as  the  first 
step  for  the  real  movement  on  Virginia.  So  secretly  did 
he  do  it  that  even  his  own  army  was  in  the  dark,  and  Clin 
ton  was  completely  deceived.  Washington  gathered  pro 
visions  and  forage  as  if  for  prolonged  operations  against 
New  York,  erected  ovens  even,  and  gave  a  perfect  appear 
ance  of  a  protracted  campaign.  Heath  was  then  left  in 
command  of  the  troops  that  were  to  remain  and  check  the 
British  in  New  York.  Then,  on  August  iQth  the  allied 
forces  started  for  the  South.  They  began  as  if  about  to 
make  an  attack  on  Staten  Island,  fixed  in  this  way  the 
attention  of  the  enemy,  and  drew  the  whole  army  safely 
and  unopposed  across  the  Hudson  and  into  New  Jersey. 
On  September  2d  the  Americans  were  marching  through 
Philadelphia,  followed  soon  after  by  the  French,  and  the 
deceived  Clinton  awoke  at  last  to  the  fact  that  Washington 
had  slipped  by  him  and  was  away  out  of  reach  and  going 
straight  to  Yorktown.  On  September  8th  the  allied  armies 
were  united  at  the  Head  of  Elk  waiting  for  the  fleet. 

In  due  time  the  fleet  came,  and  with  it  mastership 
of  the  sea,  but  not  without  hindrances  very  happily  over 
come.  The  British  this  time  made  the  mistake,  unusual 
with  them  in  naval  campaigns,  of  not  concentrating  their 
fleet  and  holding  control  of  the  sea.  Rodney,  instead  of 
pursuing  De  Grasse  with  his  entire  force,  sent  Hood  to 
the  North  with  only  fourteen  ships  to  join  Admiral  Graves 


512  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


^^^^M^=f==s^^^^i^f^^'^^- 


PRESENT  APPEARANCE  OF  THE  BRITISH  IN. 
TRENCHMENT  AT  YORKTOWN,  WITH  A 
MAP  SHOWING  THE  POSITION  OF  THE 
FRENCH  AND  AMERICAN  TROOPS. 

The  position  of  the  works  shown  in  the  drawing  extends  from  A 
to  B  on  the  map. 

at  New  York.  Hood  brought  the 
first  news  of  the  arrival  of  De 
Grasse,  and  Clinton,  convinced  at 
last  that  the  danger  was  really  in 
Virginia,  reluctantly  allowed  Graves  to  sail  to  the  South. 
Missing  De  Barras,  whom  they  had  hoped  to  intercept, 
they  kept  on  to  the  Chesapeake.  De  Grasse,  who  was 
then  landing  additional  troops  under  St.  Simon  to  go 
to  the  aid  of  Lafayette,  although  somewhat  weakened, 
stood  out  as  soon  as  the  English  appeared,  and,  on  Sep 
tember  5th,  gave  them  battle  just  as  Washington  and 
the  allies  were  hurrying  southward  from  Philadelphia. 
This  action  also  was  called  indecisive,  but  the  victory  this 
time  was  with  the  French.  The  English  burned  one  dis 
abled  frigate,  and  in  the  course  of  five  days  sailed  back  to 
New  York,  while  the  French,  returning  to  Lynn  Haven 
Bay,  found  De  Barras  safe  with  his  transports  and  siege- 


YORKTOWN  5i3 

train.  They  were  masters  of  the  Chesapeake.  At  the 
supreme  moment  the  sea-power  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
allies,  and  Washington's  one  essential  condition  of  com 
plete  triumph,  so  prayed  and  longed  for  in  the  weary  years 
gone  by,  was  at  last  fulfilled.  The  prize  of  victory  had 
been  won  in  the  indecisive  action  by  England's  failure  to 
concentrate  her  fleet,  by  Rodney's  failure  to  rise  to  Nelson's 
level,  and  follow  and  fight  the  main  force  of  the  enemy 
wherever  it  went. 

The  really  crucial  moment  had  been  passed,  but  there 
were  still  many  trials,  many  obstacles  to  be  overcome,  and 
one  great  peril  to  be  put  aside  and  escaped.  It  was  hard 
work  to  get  transports,  but  in  some  fashion  Washington 
gathered  them  and  had  assistance  from  the  French  fleet. 
Nowhere  else,  indeed,  did  it  seem  possible  to  get  help,  for 
Congress  selected  this  particular  moment,  the  eve  of  a  great 
and  decisive  battle,  to  consider  the  question  of  reducing 
the  army.  One  stands  in  silent  amazement  before  such  an 
exhibition  of  human  fatuity,  and  the  student  gathers  from 
it  an  impression  of  the  utterly  worn  out  and  unnerved 
state  of  the  central  Government  which  nothing  else  could 
give.  The  army  luckily  was  not  reduced,  but  a  legislative 
body  which  at  such  a  time  could  even  contemplate  such  a 
step  was  not  likely  to  be  of  much  help  to  a  fighting  soldier 
struggling  manfully  in  a  sea  of  troubles.  Congress  did  not 
actually  destroy  its  army  in  the  presence  of  the  foe,  and 
that  is  all  that  can  be  said,  and  the  statement  is  pitiful 
enough.  The  State  Governments  were  little  better,  but 
they  were  not  wholly  negative  ;  they  made  some  efforts, 
slow  and  feeble,  but  still  efforts  to  aid  the  General  and  his 
army.  It  is  not  easy  to  know  just  how  the  result  was  at 
tained,  but  in  some  way  or  other  Washington  drove  through 


5i4  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

his  entanglements,  gathered  transports  here,  there,  and 
everywhere,  and  especially  from  De  Barras,  whom  -he  had 
himself  brought  to  the  Chesapeake,  and  finally  got  the 
allied  forces  afloat  and  on  the  way  to  Yorktown.  Then  he 
turned  off  with  De  Rochambeau  and  went  to  Mount  Ver- 
non  to  see  for  a  day  the  well-loved  spot,  to  look  out  over 
the  broad  river  after  a  separation  of  six  years,  to  recall  all 
that  had  passed,  perhaps  to  dream  for  a  moment  of  the 
final  and  complete  victory  which  he  saw  at  last  within  his 
grasp. 

Whatever  his  thoughts,  he  did  not  linger  long.  In  two 
days  he  was  again  on  his  way,  and  on  the  1 7th  was  on  the 
Ville  de  Paris  congratulating  De  Grasse  on  his  victory  and 
making  plans  for  the  siege.  Now  at  the  last  moment  came 
a  great  peril  which  threatened  to  wreck  everything.  Like 
D'Estaing  at  Savannah,  De  Grasse  had  a  sudden  cold  fit 
because  much  alarmed  at  news  of  British  reinforcements, 
and  began  to  reflect  on  the  advancing  season,  the  gales 
coming  from  the  West  Indies,  and  other  unpleasant  possi 
bilities.  So  he  made  up  his  mind  that  he  could  not  fight 
in  the  bay,  and  announced  firmly  that  he  must  depart  at 
once  with  his  fleet  and  would  leave  only  two  ships  for  the 
siege.  All  the  hopeful  plans  began  to  totter,  failure  and 
ruin  seemed  drawing  near.  More  diplomacy  was  needed  ; 
more  of  the  appeals  which  had  brought  De  Barras  from 
Boston.  So  Washington  wrote  another  of  his  strong 
letters  of  remonstrance  and  argument,  and  zealously  sup 
ported  by  Lafayette,  prevailed.  "A  great  mind,"  wrote 
Washington  to  De  Grasse,  "knows  how  to  make  a  per 
sonal  sacrifice  to  secure  an  important  general  good,"  and 
the  fine  compliment  had  its  effect.  It  may  not  have  been 
wholly  sincere  as  to  the  "great  mind,"  but  the  gratitude  it 


YORKTOWN 


515 


expressed  came  from  the  heart  of  the  chief  whose  plans 
seemed  about  to  fall  in  chaos  and  ruin. 

So  the  last  great  danger-point  was  passed  and,  on  Sep 
tember  26th,  the  troops  landed  at  Williamsburg,  and,  on 
the  28th,  marched  on  Yorktown.  There  they  found  Corn- 
wallis  occupying  an  intrenched  camp  outside  the  town. 


THE  HOME  OF  CHANCELLOR 
IV  Y  TH  E  AT  WILLIA  MS  BURG, 
WHERE  WASHINGTON  STOPPED 
ON  HIS  WA  Y  TO  THE  SIEGE  OF 
YORKTOWN. 


Beyond  is  the  old  Bruton  Parish  Church,  built  about 


The  next  day  Washington  extended  his  lines  with  the 
Americans  on  the  right,  and  Cornwallis,  seeing  that  he  was 
outflanked,  withdrew  to  the  town  and  the  inner  line  of  de 
fences.  The  next  day  the  allies  marched  in  and  took  pos 
session  of  the  abandoned  works.  This  shut  Cornwallis  in 
completely,  as  on  the  Gloucester  side  the  neck  was  occu 
pied  by  the  Virginia  militia  under  Weedon  and  the  French 
cavalry  under  the  Due  de  Lauzun,  a  typical  French  noble, 


5i6  THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

a  man  of  camps  and  courts,  of  many  adventures  both  in 
love  and  war,  and  altogether  a  very  brilliant  figure  against 
the  sober  background  of  the  American  army.  Here,  when 
their  troops  were  posted,  a  sally  was  attempted  by  Tarleton 
and  his  legion.  Lauzun  was  out  one  morning  with  a  small 
force  and  stopped  at  a  house  where,  according  to  his  uni 
versal  habit,  he  found  the  hostess  a  very  pretty  woman,  a 
fact  he  had  time  to  note  before  she  told  him  that  Tarleton 
had  just  been  there  and  had  expressed  a  strong  desire  "  to 
shake  hands  with  the  French  Duke."  This  was  enough 
for  Lauzun,  who  at  once  left  his  pretty  woman  and  riding 
forward,  ran  into  the  English  cavalry.  Tarleton,  true  to 
his  word,  made  for  the  Duke  at  once,  who  was  quite  ready 
to  receive  him,  but  a  lancer  riding  against  Tarleton  flung 
him  to  the  ground  and  the  French  seeing  their  leader  in 
danger,  charged  briskly  and  gayly  upon  the  British,  who 
had  come  up  in  some  confusion,  and  scattered  them  in 
all  directions.  Tarleton  lost  his  horse  but  managed  to 
escape  himself,  and  so  passed  off  the  American  stage 
leaving  a  memory  of  some  brilliant  feats  sullied  by  many 
cruelties  and  the  massacre  of  prisoners. 

It  was  not  a  very  serious  attempt,  this  wild  dash  of 
Tarleton,  but  it  was  the  only  sally  actually  undertaken  be 
fore  affairs  were  desperate,  and  served  to  show  how  hope 
less  the  British  position  had  become.  Nothing  remained, 
indeed,  but  to  draw  the  net  which  had  been  so  skilfully 
and  successfully  thrown  over  Cornwallis.  On  October  6th 
the  heavy  guns  arrived,  De  Grasse  consented  to  stay  until 
November  ist,  and  the  siege  was  driven  forward  rapidly. 
On  the  same  day  the  first  parallel  was  opened  within  three 
hundred  yards  of  the  British  lines.  On  the  7th  and  8th  the 
French  opened  fire  on  the  left,  and  the  Americans  on  the 


YORKTOWN  SI9 

right,  and  the  British  were  forced  back  from  an  outlying 
redoubt.  The  fire  was  continued  on  the  Qth,  and  the  eartn- 
vvorks  of  the  enemy  suffered  severely.  On  the  loth  more 
guns  and  a  heavier  fire,  and  some  of  the  British  ships  were 
destroyed  by  the  French  fleet.  On  the  nth  the  second 
parallel  was  opened  with  slight  loss  and  Cornwallis  wrote 
to  Clinton  that  his  situation  was  desperate,  that  he  was 
losing  men  fast,  and  that  the  enemy  were  closing  in  upon 
him.  So  the  work  went  on  for  two  days,  more  heavy  fir 
ing  on  one  side,  crumbling  defences  and  falling  men  on  the 
other,  a  brave  struggle  against  fate.  On  the  i4th  Wash 
ington  decided  that  the  two  advanced  redoubts  on  the 
British  left  were  practicable  and  ordered  an  assault.  The 
American  light  infantry  under  Lafayette  were  given  the 
redoubt  nearest  the  river,  while  the  other  was  assigned 
to  the  regiments  of  Auvergne  and  Deux  Fonts  and  the 
Grenadiers  of  Gatinois,  all  under  the  Baron  de  Viomenil. 
Alexander  Hamilton  led  the  main  attack  for  the  Amer 
icans,  while  Laurens  commanded  on  the  flank.  Hamilton 
dashed  forward  with  his  accustomed  impetuosity,  leading 
his  men,  who  had  unloaded  muskets  and  trusted  wholly 
to  the  bayonet.  On  they  went  over  the  abatis,  over  the 
obstacles  and  up  the  parapet,  and  in  ten  minutes  they  had 
the  redoubt.  The  Americans  lost  42  in  killed  and  wounded, 
the  British,  who  surrendered  as  soon  as  their  assailants 
poured  over  the  parapet,  8  killed. 

The  French  had  a  more  serious  task.  The  redoubt 
assigned  to  them  contained  more  men  and  was  more  stub 
bornly  defended.  They  removed  the  obstructions  under 
fire,  moved  steadily  forward,  and  after  half  an  hour's  hard 
fighting  the  redoubt  was  theirs.  Count  de  Damas,  Che 
valier  de  Lameth,  and  the  Count  de  Deux  Fonts  were  all 


520 


THE  STORY   OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GOVERNOR  NELSON  AT  YORKTOWN. 

Governor    Nelson    -was    in    command  of  the    Virginia    troops   at    Yorkto-wn.    and  ordered  his  ovvn    house  to  be 
heavily  bombarded,  as  it  -was  occupied  by  Cormuallis  and  his  staff  at  the  time. 

wounded  ;  it  was  a  well-delivered  assault,  not  without  seri 
ous  loss,  and  the  regiment  of  Auvergne,  for  its  share  in 
the  day's  work,  recovered  from  the  King  its  proud  title  of 
"  Auvergne  sans  tache." 

The  redoubts  taken  in  such  prompt  and  brilliant  fashion 
were  at  once  included  in  the  American  line,  and  Cornwallis 
saw  the  bitter  end  coming  very  near  indeed.  On  the  i6th 
he  ordered  a  sortie  under  Colonel  Abercrombie,  which  was 
made  with  great  gallantry,  but  all  in  vain.  The  British 
forced  their  way  into  a  redoubt  held  by  the  French  only 
to  be  driven  out  again  with  heavy  loss.  Then  Cornwallis 


YORKTOWN 


521 


moved  part  of  his  troops  to  Gloucester  to  try  to  escape 
by  water.  The  attempt,  hopeless  in  any  event,  was  com 
pletely  frustrated  by  a  storm,  and  on  the  next  day  the 
men  were  brought  back.  All  was  over  now,  and  Corn- 
wallis,  with  his  ammunition  nearly  exhausted,  his  works 
shattered,  and  his  army  exposed  to  a  destructive  fire, 
offered  to  surrender.  On  the  i8th  the  articles  were 
signed.  They  were  the  same  as  those  imposed  upon  the 
Americans  at  Charleston  when  Lincoln  surrendered,  and 
were  complete.  Between  8,000  and  9,000  men  constituted 
the  land  forces,  and  these,  with  their  guns,  standards,  and 
military  chests,  went  to  the  Americans.  Four  ships,  30 
transports,  15  galleys,  and  some  small  craft,  with  between 
800  and  900  officers  and  seamen  went  to  the  French.  The 
besiegers  had  lost  75  killed  and  199  wounded;  the  British 
156  killed,  326  wounded,  and  70  missing.  It  was  a  final 
and  complete  result,  very  characteristic  of  the  man  who 


THE  MOORE  HOUSE,  IN   WHICH  THE   CAPITULATION  WAS   SIGNED. 


522  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

had  planned  it.  This  time  all  his  conditions  had  been 
fulfilled  and  the  outcome  was  inevitable.  The  British 
had  no  chance  from  the  beginning.  They  were  outnum 
bered  and  held  in  an  iron  grasp,  both  by  land  and  sea. 
Theirs  was  the  gallant  struggle  against  fate  which  brave 
men  make,  and  they  went  down  before  a  plan  which  left 
nothing  to  chance  and  a  force  which  afforded  no  loophole 
for  escape.  Sir  Henry  Clinton  arrived  off  the  Capes  on 
the  24th  with  a  fleet  and  reinforcements,  heard  the  news 
and  returned  to  New  York,  a  closing  performance  very 
characteristic  of  English  generalship  in  the  American  war. 
He  was  too  late,  and  he  was  trying  to  play  the  game  with 
an  opponent  who  was  never  too  late  and  who  never  for 
gave  or  overlooked  mistakes  made  by  his  enemies.  Six 
years  had  taught  Washington  much  and  Sir  Henry  Clin 
ton  nothing,  so  the  great  soldier  triumphed  over  the  physi 
cally  brave  gentleman  of  good  family,  who,  ignorant  of 
the  conditions  with  which  he  had  to  deal,  had  seen  his 
men  slaughtered  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  still  despising  his 
opponents,  had  arrived  too  late  to  save  a  British  army 
from  surrender  at  Yorktown.  There  is  much  room  for 
reflection  here  on  the  vast  advantage  possessed  by  the  man 
of  veracious  mind  and  clear  intelligence,  who  looks  facts 
steadily  in  the  face  and  meets  them  unflinchingly,  be  they 
ugly  or  fair  to  see.  This  was  perhaps  the  greatest  among 
the  many  great  qualities  of  George  Washington,  and  in  it 
we  may  find  an  explanation  of  the  military  career  which 
began  in  the  capture  of  Boston  and  closed  in  the  trenches 
of  Yorktown. 

So  it  all  ended,  and  nothing  remained  but  the  forms 
and  ceremonies  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  man  on  great  and 
small  occasions  alike.  The  igth  of  October  was  the  day 


YORKTOWN  525 

fixed  for  the  performance  of  these  functions  so  agreeable 
for  one  side,  so  painful  to  the  other.  At  noon  on  that 
day  the  two  redoubts  on  the  left  were  surrendered,  and 
the  Americans  marched  into  one  and  the  French  into  the 
other.  At  one  o'clock  the  redoubts  on  the  Gloucester 
side  were  given  up.  At  two  the  garrison  of  Yorktown 
marched  out ;  at  three  the  cavalry  and  light  troops  from 


YORKTOWN,  1833,  FROM  THE  FIELD  OF  ITS  SURRENDER  BY  LORD  CORN- 
WALLIS  (OCTOBER  /<?,  1781).  RESIDENCE  OF  GOVERNOR  NELSON  ON 
THE  EXTREME  LEFT  OF  THE  PICTURE. 

Front  an  old  print,  after  the  drawing  by  John  G.  Chapman,  made  in  1833  ;  now  in  the  possession  of  Senator  Lodge. 

the  Gloucester  side.  An  hour  later  General  O'Hara,  in 
the  absence  of  Lord  Cornwallis,  who  kept  his  tent  on  the 
plea  of  illness,  apologized  to  Washington  for  his  chiefs 
failure  to  appear  and  handed  his  sword  to  General  Lincoln. 
Then  the  British  troops,  in  new  uniforms,  moving  steadily 
and  finely,  as  if  on  parade,  marched  between  the  French 
and  the  American  lines,  piled  their  arms,  and  returned  to 
their  camps  prisoners  of  war,  to  be  dispersed  and  held  in 
different  States. 


526  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

It  was  all  very  quietly  done  after  the  fashion  of  the 
men  of  English  race,  and  with  the  good  manners  of  the 
Frenchman.  Yet  it  was  a  very  memorable  scene,  full  of 
meaning,  not  only  to  the  actors,  but  to  the  world,  and  big 
with  a  future  of  which  the  men  ranked  there  together  in 
the  fields  of  Virginia,  their  arms  gleaming  in  the  autumn 
sun,  little  dreamed. 

It  had  been  stipulated  by  the  lovers  of  forms  and  cere 
monies  that  when  the  great  moment  came  the  bands  of 
the  beaten  army  should  play  a  British  air.  So  on  they 
marched  between  the  silent  ranks  of  the  conquerors,  the 
music  sounding  to  the  air  well  known  then  of  "  The 
World  Turned  Upside  Down."  The  tune  probably  ex 
pressed  very  accurately  the  feelings  of  the  men  engaged 
in  the  unhappy  business  of  laying  down  their  arms  that 
October  afternoon.  Their  little  world  had  indeed  been 
turned  upside  down,  and  they  were  the  helpless  prisoners 
of  men  of  their  own  race  whom  they  had  seen  fit  to  ignore 
and  despise.  But  that  surrender  at  Yorktown  reached  far 
beyond  the  little  circle  of  those  engaged  in  it.  It  meant 
that  the  American  Revolution  had  come  to  success.  On 
one  side  were  ranked  the  men  of  the  soil  who  had  come 
out  victors  in  the  long  fight.  Over  their  heads  fluttered 
a  new  flag  which  had  earned  its  right  to  live,  and  was  the 
emblem  of  a  new  nation  born  into  the  world.  A  very 
great  event.  But  there  was  a  still  deeper  meaning  behind 
that  flag  and  that  nation.  They  were  the  outward  and 
visible  signs  of  the  momentous  fact  that  an  armed  people 
had  won  their  fight,  set  aside  old  systems,  and  resolved  to 
govern  themselves.  Over  against  the  American  line  were 
ranked  the  ordered  troops  of  Louis  XVI.  Above  them 
floated  the  white  flag  and  the  lilies  of  France.  They  had 


YORKTOWN 


527 


helped  a  people  in  arms  to  cast  out  kingly  rule,  and  in  a 
few  years  they,  too,  would  be  themselves  a  people  in  arms 
against  all  Europe,  and  against  all  kings.  The  lilies  would 
have  withered,  the  white  flag  would  be  gone,  and  in  its 
place  the  three  colors  of  the  American  Republic  woiJcL 
begin  the  march  which  was  to  end  only  at  Moscow,  v  ery 
significant  was  Yorktown  to  England,  for  it  was  the  break 
ing  of  the  British  Empire.  Very  significant  to  the  thir 
teen  little  States  thus  set  forward  on  the  hard  road  which 
was  to  lead  them  to  a  nation's  place,  and  to  possibilities 
most  significant  to  all  mankind,  for  it  meant  that  the  new 
force  of  democracy  had  won  its  first  great  battle.  The 
movement  which  had  begun  at  Philadelphia  had  marched 
to  some  purpose.  The  drum-beat,  faintly  heard  at  Con 
cord,  was  sounding  very  loudly  now  to  the  ears  of  a  still 
inattentive  world  upon  the  plains  of  Yorktown. 


THE  PRINCIPAL  STREET  IN  YORKTOWN. 


CHAPTER   XX 

HOW   PEACE   WAS    MADE 

THE  deeper  meanings  of  Yorktovvn,  shining  out  very 
plainly  now  after  more  than  a  century  has  come 
and  gone,  were  quite  hidden  at  the  moment ;  but 
the  immediate  effects  were  sufficient  even  then  to  fill  the 
minds  of  men  both  in  the  Old  World  and  in  the  New. 
The  tidings  carried  by  Lauzun,  the  hard-fighting,  amorous 
Duke,  crossed  the  Atlantic  in  the  surprisingly  short  time 
of  twenty-two  days,  and  were  at  Versailles  on  November 
19,  1781,  with  great  rejoicing  thereupon  in  the  brilliant 
Court  and  among  the  people.  Great  satisfaction,  too,  it 
all  was  to  Vergennes  and  to  the  others  who  had  planned 
the  policy  now  culminating  so  gloriously.  No  doubt  any 
longer  that  the  blow  had  gone  home,  and  that  a  very  fine 
revenge  had  been  taken  upon  the  enemy  who  had  wrested 
Canada  from  France.  The  splendid  Empire  of  Great 
Britain  had  been  broken.  This  fact  Yorktown  made  clear 
to  all  men.  Not  seen  at  all,  however,  in  the  dust  of  de 
feat,  was  the  other  even  more  momentous  fact  that  Eng 
land  would  rise  stronger  than  ever  from  her  great  disaster, 
and  that  the  next  fortification  to  crumble  under  the  fire  of 
the  Yorktown  guns  would  be  the  Bastile,  symbol  of  the 
rule  of  one  man  which  was  to  go  down  before  the  rule  of 

all  men. 

528 


HOW    PEACE   WAS    MADE  529 

From  rejoicing  Paris  the  news  echoed  through  Europe, 
gratifying  various  kings  and  cabinets  with  the  misfortune 
of  a  rival  power,  but  giving  to  their  complacent  minds  no 
hint  of  the  coming  overthrow  of  sundry  well-established 
thrones  and  empires — something  to  be  discerned  only  by 
those  who  listened  very  attentively  to  the  deeper  under 
tones  then  sounding  solemnly  among  the  ominous  voices 
of  the  time.  By  November  25th  the  Paris  news  was  in 
London,  with  Clinton's  official  report  following  hard  upon 
it.  No  doubt  there,  at  least,  as  to  its  immediate  meaning. 
Lord  North,  the  clever,  humorous,  good-natured  man, 
seeing  the  right  clearly  and  pursuing  the  wrong  half 
heartedly  in  obedience  to  the  will  of  a  dull  master,  threw 
up  his  hands  and  cried,  "  It  is  all  over.'7  Quite  plain  to 
Parliament  also,  when  they  came  together  two  days  later, 
was  the  message  of  Yorktown.  A  troubled  address  from 
the  throne  and  the  majority  for  the  Government  reduced 
to  eighty-seven  were  the  first  faint  signs  of  the  coming  re 
volt.  A  fortnight  later  the  majority  was  down  to  forty- 
one  on  the  question  of  giving  up  all  further  attempts  to 
reduce  the  Colonies.  Then  came  a  petition  from  London 
praying  peace  ;  for  London  saw  her  commerce  broken  and 
scattered  by  the  American  privateers  ranging  now  even  to 
the  English  Channel,  while  ruinous  rates  of  insurance 
weighed  heavily  upon  every  cargo  sent  out  by  her  mer 
chants.  The  King  alone,  stupid,  obstinate,  with  all  his 
instincts  for  being  a  king  and  even  a  despot  in  angry  re 
volt,  declared  that  he  would  never  assent  to  the  separation 
of  the  Colonies.  But  poor  George  was  beaten  even  if  he 
had  not  the  wit  to  know  it,  and  events,  relentless  and  ir 
resistible,  pushed  him  down  and  passed  over  him.  The 
effort  to  revive  a  personal  monarchy  in  England  had  miser- 


530  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ably  failed.  It  had  been  stricken  down  by  the  English 
people  in  America,  as  it  would  have  been  crushed  by  the 
English  people  at  home  if  the  hands  of  the  Americans  had 
not  been  those  nearest  to  the  work. 

Rapidly  now  the  supports  about  the  King  fell  away. 
Lord  George  Germain,  the  heroic,  who  thought  the  Amer 
icans  could  not  fight,  departed  from  the  Cabinet.  Carle- 
ton  succeeded  Clinton  at  New  York,  and  provision  was 
made  for  nothing  but  defensive  warfare,  now  reduced  to 
holding  New  York  and  a  few  ports  in  South  Carolina,  to 
which  pitiful  dimensions  the  British  Empire  in  America 
south  of  the  Lakes  had  at  last  shrunk.  Under  these 
circumstances  the  decisive  stroke  in  Parliament  could  not 
be  long  delayed,  and  on  February  22d,  the  birthday  of 
Washington,  Conway's  motion  against  continuing  the 
American  war  failed  by  only  one  vote.  This  \vas  defeat ; 
five  days  later  the  same  motion  had  a  majority  of  nineteen 
and  the  doom  of  the  Ministry  was  sealed.  A  brief  season 
of  intrigue  followed,  the  King  trying  to  make  terms  with 
Rockingham,  who  was  to  come  in  as  the  head  of  the 
Whigs,  and  to  shut  out  Fox.  But  the  royal  experiment, 
shot  down  at  Bunker  Hill  and  surrendered  at  Saratoga  and 
Yorktown,  had  failed  too  completely  for  compromise.  No 
terms  could  be  made.  On  March  2Oth  Lord  North  an 
nounced  that  his  Ministry  was  at  an  end,  and  Rockingham, 
shattered  in  health,  undertook  the  Government  and  called 
members  of  both  wings  of  his  party  to  the  Cabinet.  One 
of  these  factions  was  headed  by  Charles  Fox,  then  in  the 
first  flush  of  his  splendid  eloquence — passionate  in  his 
sympathies,  earnest  in  his  beliefs,  full  of  noble  aspirations 
and  deep  emotions.  The  chief  of  the  other  faction  was 
Lord  Shelburne,  liberal  by  cultivation,  cool,  ambitious, 


HOW   PEACE   WAS   MADE 


531 


adroit,  nicknamed  Malagrida  by  his  contemporaries,  who 
thought  his  political  methods  Jesuitical.  Agreement  be 
tween  two  such  men  was  impossible,  and  antagonism,  en- 


CHARLES  JAMES  FOX. 
From  mezzotint  by  John  Gilbank,  1806. 


LORD  SHELBURNE. 
ngravingby  Bar tolozzi  after  Gainsborough,  1787. 


hanced  by  the  offices  they  respectively  received,  broke  out 
at  once.  Shelburne  was  made  Secretary  of  State  for  the 
Home  Department,  which  included  the  Colonies ;  Fox, 
Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs,  which  included  all 
the  other  belligerents.  But  if  the  independence  of  the 
Colonies  was  conceded  in  advance,  then  it  might  perhaps 
be  argued  that  the  negotiations  with  them  passed  away 
from  Shelburne  and  into  the  hands  of  Fox.  Here,  at  all 
events,  was  a  very  pretty  situation  created  for  the  Amer 
icans  by  two  Secretaries  of  State  struggling  with  each 
other  and  severally  seeking  to  make  peace  with  them. 
Rightly  handled,  the  two  rivals  of  the  British  Cabinet 
could  be  used  to  bid  against  one  another,  if  there  chanced 


532  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

to  be  a  diplomatist  opposed  to  them  able  to  take  advantage 
of  the  cards  thus  forced  into  his  hands. 

Across  the  channel,  as  it  happened,  there  was  just  the 
man  for  the  conditions.  Benjamin  Franklin  in  Paris, 
watching  every  move  in  the  game — as  familiar  with  Eng 
lish  politics  as  any  statesman  in  London,  more  astute  than 
Shelburne,  and  as  single-minded  in  his  devotion  to  his 
country  and  in  his  love  of  freedom  as  Fox — saw,  at  a 
glance,  the  opportunities  opening  before  him.  Divining 
the  future,  he  began  a  correspondence  with  Shelburne, 
whom  he  knew  well,  before  the  old  Ministry  had  actually 
fallen  or  the  new  one  had  been  formed.  With  words  of 
genuine  desire  for  peace  and  of  subtile  flattery  for  his  cor 
respondent,  he  opened  the  negotiations  with  Shelburne, 
for  he  characteristically  felt  that  he  could  deal  better  with 
the  cunning  politician  of  cultivated  liberality  than  with  the 
eager  and  earnest  nature  of  Fox,  who  would  serve  best  as 
a  check  and  foil  to  the  man  from  whom  he  meant  to 
get  the  peace  he  wanted  for  America.  Fran-klin,  as  it 
soon  appeared,  had  made  his  first  step  not  only  shrewdly 
but  correctly,  for  in  response  to  his  letter  Shelburne 
sent  Richard  Oswald  over  to  Paris  to  begin  the  negotia 
tions. 

Congress  had  put  the  peace  negotiations  into  the  hands 
of  Commissioners,  Franklin,  Jay,  Adams,  and  Laurens. 
The  last,  captured  on  the  high  seas  and  now  out  of  the 
Tower  on  parole,  joined  Adams  at  The  Hague,  where  the 
latter  was  just  concluding  a  negotiation  successful  in  loans 
and  recognition,  and,  being  without  faith  in  the  readiness 
of  Great  Britain  to  make  peace,  was  in  no  hurry  to  move. 
Jay  was  in  Spain,  so  Franklin,  at  the  outset,  was  left  alone 
with  all  the  threads  of  the  tangled  web  in  his  own  hands. 


HOW    PEACE   WAS    MADE  533 

His  first  step  was  to  take  possession  of  Oswald,  Lord  Shel- 
burne's  envoy,  as  soon  as  that  gentleman  arrived  in  Paris. 
With  a  fine  disregard  for  the  differing  jurisdictions  of  the 
English  Secretaries  of  State,  he  took  Oswald  to  see  Ver- 
gennes  and  started  the  negotiations  with  France  in  this  il 
licit  manner.  Then  he  sent  Oswald  back  to  London  with 
some  notes  of  a  conversation  in  which  he  assured  Shel- 
burne  that  Oswald  was,  of  all  others,  the  agent  to  be  em 
ployed,  which,  from  Franklin's  point  of  view,  was  no  doubt 
true.  He  suggested,  with  pleasant  audacity,  that  Canada 
should  be  ceded  to  the  United  States,  and  said  that  this 
cession  would  assure  "a  durable  peace  and  a  sweet  recon 
ciliation."  The  old  philosopher  must  have  allowed  him 
self  to  smile  as  he  penned  this  sentence  ;  but  he  neverthe 
less  sent  Oswald  off  with  it,  and  then  wrote  to  Jay  begging 
him  to  come  to  Paris,  and  adding,  significantly,  "  Spain 
has  taken  four  years  to  consider  whether  she  should  treat 
with  us  or  not.  Give  her  forty,  and  let  us,  in  the  mean 
time,  mind  our  own  business."  Here  was  a  great  stroke. 
Spain  was  to  be  shut  out  from  any  share  in  the  American 
negotiations,  and  Franklin  had  got  rid  of  one  great  en 
cumbrance. 

Then  Oswald  came  back  from  London.  It  appeared 
that  Lord  Shelburne  did  not  intend  to  cede  Canada  even 
for  "  a  sweet  reconciliation  ; "  but  he  was  ready  to  grant 
complete  independence,  proposed  the  Penobscot  as  our 
Eastern  boundary,  and  demanded  security  for  British  debts 
and  for  the  loyalists.  Then  appeared  on  the  scene  Mr. 
Thomas  Grenville,  the  representative  of  Mr.  Fox,  and  the 
rebel  Franklin  introduced  Mr.  Fox's  man  to  the  French 
Minister.  But  Mr.  Grenville  came  to  misfortune  at  once. 
His  proposition  that  the  independence  of  America  should 


534 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


be  granted  to  France  was  rejected  by  both  Vergennes  and 
Franklin,  and  Mr.  Grenville  found  himself  in  need  of  fresh 
instructions.  When  his  new  powers  came  they  authorized 

him  to  treat  only  with  France, 
and  yet  were  filled  with  a  dis 
cussion  of  American  affairs,  so 
it  appeared  that  these  new 
powers  would  not  do  either. 
Vergennes  insisted  on  the  in 
clusion  of  France,  while  Frank 
lin  would  not  tell  Mr.  Fox's 
envoy  anything  about  the 
American  case,  so  that  Mr. 
Grenville  felt  much  chagrined 
and  checked,  and  of  no  partic 
ular  use  or  effect.  Franklin, 
in  fact,  meant  to  keep  the  ne 
gotiations  in  Oswald's  hands,  and,  although  Grenville  was 
valuable  as  a  menace  in  the  background,  it  was  not  in 
tended  that  he  should  have  any  real  part  in  the  serious 
business.  Franklin  evidently  felt  that  he  could  get  more 
from  Lord  Shelburne's  necessities  than  he  could  from  the 
theories  of  Fox  wherein  events  favored  him,  for  Lord  Rock- 
ingham  died,  Fox  went  out  of  office,  and  Shelburne  became 
prime-minister.  Franklin,  with  a  clear  field  now,  and  know 
ing  well  how  frail  was  Shelburne's  tenure  of  office,  pro 
ceeded  to  push  his  negotiations  with  Oswald  as  rapidly  as 
possible.  On  July  loth  he  proposed  the  American  condi 
tions  of  peace.  The  essential  irrevocable  articles  were  full 
and  complete  independence,  withdrawal  of  all  British  troops, 
the  Mississippi  as  the  Western  boundary,  the  Northern  and 
Eastern  boundaries  as  they  were  before  the  Quebec  Act  of 


CHARLES  GRA  VI ER  COMTE  DE 
VERGENNES. 


HOW   PEACE   WAS   MADE  535 

1774,  and  freedom  of  fishing  off  Newfoundland.  He  re 
fused  all  provisions  for  the  security  of  the  loyalists  or  of 
British  debts,  and  suggested  an  article  for  reciprocity  of 
trade.  Back  went  Oswald  to  London,  to  return  with  full 
powers  and  an  acceptance  of  all  Franklin's  terms,  the  priv 
ilege  of  drying  fish  in  Newfoundland  being  alone  withheld. 
The  treaty  was  practically  made,  the  great  lines  upon  which 
it  was  finally  concluded  were  all  agreed,  and  thus  far 
Franklin  had  acted  alone.  He  had  steered  clear  of  France 
and  thrown  Spain  over.  A  few  days  only  were  needed 
and  the  work  would  have  been  perfected  ;  but  now  his 
colleagues  appeared  in  Paris,  difficulties  arose,  delays 
came,  and  there  were  serious  perils  before  the  end  was 
reached. 

First  came  Jay,  quite  cured  by  his  experience  in  Spain 
of  his  love  for  a  triple  alliance  with  that  country  and 
France,  and  very  suspicious  of  all  that  had  been  done  in 
Paris.  Fie  wanted  various  things — an  acknowledgment  of 
independence  by  Parliament,  and  then  a  proclamation  under 
the  great  seal,  either  of  which  if  insisted  upon  might  have 
wrecked  the  negotiations.  But  Jay,  on  being  reasoned 
with,  abandoned  these  demands  and  insisted  only  on  hav 
ing  Oswald's  commission  recognize  the  United  States  of 
America,  which  was  wise,  but  which  also  brought  delay  in 
getting  the  new  commission,  and  just  then  all  delays  were 
dangerous.  Dangerous  because  Shelburne's  days  of  pow 
er  were  numbered,  and  still  more  perilous  because  it  gave 
time  for  Spain  to  come  upon  the  scene,  and  proceed  to  in 
trigue  and  draw  France  away  from  the  United  States  and 
urge  upon  the  Americans  the  abandonment  of  the  Missis 
sippi. 

Here  Jay  came  out  with  great  force,  and  his  knowl- 


536  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

edge  of  Spain  and  familiarity  with  Spanish  treachery  and 
falsehood  stood  him  in  good  stead.  On  no  account  was 
the  valley  of  the  great  river  to  be  given  up.  Then  it  ap 
peared  that  France  was  meddling  with  the  fisheries  ;  and 
now  Jay  turned  to  England,  convinced  that  it  was  our  in 
terest  to  cut  clear  of  the  continental  powers.  So  it  came 
to  pass  that  a  month  later  he  and  Franklin  were  again  at 
work  with  the  newly  commissioned  Oswald  upon  the  treaty 
itself.  Jay  made  the  draft,  and  did  it  well,  but  it  was 
along  the  lines  of  Franklin's  first  scheme,  and,  while  it 
added  reciprocity  of  trade  and  free  navigation  of  the 
Mississippi,  the  Americans  still  stood  out  on  the  debts  and 
the  loyalists.  Over  went  the  treaty  to  London,  once  more 
to  come  back  with  another  commissioner,  Henry  Strachey, 
Oswald  being  thought  too  pliant  and  in  need  of  rein 
forcement.  The  new  commissioner  was  to  stand  out  for 
the  debts  and  loyalists  and  against  drying  fish  on  New 
foundland,  while  the  Northeastern  boundary  was  still  left 
open. 

None  of  these  points,  however,  was  vital,  and  the  trea 
ty  seemed  again  on  the  verge  of  completion  when  John 
Adams  arrived,  and,  chancing  to  encounter  Oswald  and 
Strachey,  let  out  that  he  was  willing  to  yield  on  the  loyal 
ists  and  the  debts,  thus  giving  away  FYanklin's  reserve, 
which  he  had  been  holding  for  a  high  price  at  the  end.  It 
was  not  a  fortunate  bit  of  frankness,  but  the  negotiations 
had  to  go  on,  and  John  Adams  proved  himself  a  most 
valuable  ally  in  the  struggle  now  centring  over  the  fisheries 
and  the  Maine  boundary,  where  he  was  especially  strong 
and  peculiarly  well  informed.  Anxious  days  followed,  with 
much  talking  and  proposing  and  counter-proposing,  very 
intricate  to  follow  out  now,  and  confused  still  further  by 


I 


NJAMIN  FRANKLIN  AND   RICHARD   OSWALD   DISCUSSING    THE    TREATY  OF  PEACE 

AT  PARIS. 


HOW    PEACE   WAS    MADE  53Q 

another  journey  of  Strachey  to  London,  with  the  Ministry 
tottering  fast  to  its  fall,  and  great  fear  that  England,  in 
spirited  by  Rodney's  victory  and  the  defence  of  Gibraltar, 
might  throw  the  whole  business  overboard.  A  very  tick 
lish,  trying  time  this  for  all  concerned,  but  Strachey  came 
back,  and  then  there  were  more  anxious  debates.  The 
Americans  yielded  on  the  loyalists  and  the  debts,  but  John 
Adams  made  an  absolute  stand  for  the  equal  rights  of  Ameri 
cans  in  the  fisheries.  Thereupon  another  visit  to  London 
was  proposed,  but  Franklin  checked  this  by  saying  that  in 
that  case  the  claim  about  the  loyalists  and  the  debts  would 
be  reopened.  Strachey  gave  way  under  this  threat,  and 
was.  followed  by  Fitzherbert,  who  had  charge  of  the  nego 
tiations  with  Spain  and  France,  and  after  Laurens  had  put 
the  black  man  in  by  the  provision  that  the  British  should 
carry  off  no  slaves,  the  treaty  was  signed  on  November  30, 
1782,  subject  to  the  further  conclusion  of  a  treaty  between 
France  and  England. 

So  the  great  work  was  done.  There  has  been  much 
controversy  since  as  to  who  did  it — a  controversy,  on  the 
whole,  rather  profitless,  although  no  doubt  consoling  to 
the  descendants  of  the  eminent  men  who  set  their  names 
to  the  treaty.  To  each  may  be  given  his  full  share  of 
honor.  Jay's  stand  on  the  Mississippi  was  admirable  and 
strong,  and  he  showed  great  capacity  in  dealing  with  the 
crooked  Spanish  side  of  the  problem  ;  but  he  made  some 
unwise  proposals,  and  came  very  near  at  one  moment  to 
upsetting  everything  by  the  delay  which  he  helped  to 
cause. 

John  Adams  was  of  the  highest  service — learned,  de 
termined,  especially  versed  in  the  questions  of  the  New 
England  boundary  and  the  fisheries,  which  he  did  more 


540  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

than  anyone  else  to  save  unimpaired  to  America.  But 
he  made  a  dangerous  admission  on  his  arrival  about  loyal 
ists  and  British  debts,  which  came  very  near  taking  from 
us  the  powerful  instrument  which  we  then  held  fast  in 
order  to  gain  better  terms  in  other  directions.  Neverthe 
less,  after  all  deductions,  both  Adams  and  Jay  rendered 
high  and  important  service  to  America  in  this  great  nego 
tiation,  and  a  service  which  could  not  have  been  spared  or 
dispensed  with. 

But  there  was  one  man  about  whom  no  deductions 
need  be  made,  who  guided  the  delicate  and  difficult  work 
from  the  beginning,  and  who  proved  himself  the  great 
diplomatist  of  his  day.  This  was  Franklin,  the  maker  of 
the  French  alliance,  the  great  figure  in  the  diplomacy 
which  did  so  much  to  establish  and  bring  to  success  the 
American  Revolution.  Before  his  colleagues  arrived  on 
the  scene  he  had  grasped  with  a  sure  hand  all  the  con 
ditions  of  the  task  before  him.  He  it  was  who  committ 
ed  Shelburne  to  the  proposition  of  independence,  played 
him  off  against  Fox,  and  captured  Oswald,  the  man  into 
whose  hands  he  determined  to  force  the  British  case.  He 
it  was  who  shut  out  Spain  and  held  France  at  arm's- 
length. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  before  his  colleagues  came  the 
pieces  in  the  great  game  were  all  in  position,  the  cam 
paign  all  laid  out,  and  the  lines  drawn  and  fixed — the 
very  lines  upon  which,  after  many  weeks  more  of  keen 
wrangling  and  argument,  the  treaty  was  finally  made.  In 
the  words  of  Mr.  Henry  Adams,  upon  which  it  is  impos 
sible  to  improve,  "  Franklin,  having  overcome  this  last 
difficulty"  (getting  Shelburne  to  style  us  the  United 
States  of  America),  u  had  only  to  guide  his  impetuous 


HOW    PEACE   WAS    MADE  541 

colleagues  and  prevent  discord  from  doing  harm.  How 
dexterously  he  profited  and  caused  his  country  to  profit 
by  the  very  idiosyncrasies  of  those  colleagues  with  which 
he  had  least  sympathy  ;  how  skilfully  he  took  advantage 
of  accidents  and  smoothed  difficulties  away  ;  how  subtle 
and  keen  his  instincts  were  ;  how  delicate  and  yet  how 
sure  his  touch  ;  all  this  is  a  story  to  which  Mr.  Bancroft 
has  done  only  partial  justice.  Sure  of  England,  Franklin 
calmly  ignored  Spain,  gently  threw  on  his  colleagues  the 
responsibility  of  dispensing  with  the  aid  of  France,  boldly 
violated  his  instructions  from  Congress,  and  negotiated  a 
triumphant  peace."  *  Spain  and  France  marvelled  to  find 
themselves  left  outside.  England,  in  the  hands  of  this 
master  of  politics,  was  led,  before  she  realized  it,  into  giv 
ing  more  than  she  ever  intended.  Adams  and  Jay  played 
Franklin's  game  with  the  other  powers  without  knowing 
that  they  did  so,  and  rested  in  full  belief  that  they  made 
the  peace,  while  the  old  philosopher  walked  out  at  the  end 
with  the  treaty  in  his  hands,  entirely  victorious  and  quite 
contented  that  others  should  have  the  glory  so  long  as  he 
had  the  result. 

The  American  rebels  convinced  the  world  that  they 
had  statesmen  in  Congress  who  could  argue  their  case  as 
ably  as  any  Ministers  in  Europe.  After  six  long  years 
they  had  demonstrated  that  they  could  fight,  and  fight 
hard,  and  bring  forth  a  great  soldier  to  lead  their  armies. 
Now,  finally,  they  had  shown  that  in  the  field  of  diplo 
macy,  in  a  negotiation  where  a  bitter  and  defeated  oppo 
nent  faced  them,  and  where  suspicious  allies  fast  cooling 
in  friendship  stood  by  their  side,  they  could  produce  dip 
lomatists  able  to  wring  from  these  adverse  and  perilous 

*  ATorth  American  Review,  April,  1875,  p.  430. 


542  THE  STORY  OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

conditions  a  most  triumphant  peace.  All  these  perform 
ances  in  statecraft,  war,  and  diplomacy  came  from  a 
people  whom  England  despised  and  therefore  lost,  and 
in  this  wise  furnish  forth  one  of  the  many  impressive  les 
sons  which  history  loves  to  preserve  and  men  delight  to 
forget. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

HOW    THE   WAR   ENDED 

GREAT  effects  came  from  the  news  of  Yorktown 
when  the  tidings  spread  through  Europe.  Very 
different  were  its  immediate  results  in  America, 
and  not  altogether  pleasant  to  contemplate.  Washington, 
wholly  unmoved  in  purpose  by  his  great  victory,  turned 
from  the  field,  where  Cornwallis  had  surrendered,  to  do 
what  came  next  in  the  work  of  completing  the  Revolution. 
He  wanted  De  Grasse  to  go  with  him  to  Charleston  in 
order  to  destroy  the  British  there  and  finish  the  Southern 
campaign  out  of  hand.  But  De  Grasse  would  do  no  more. 
He  preferred  to  leave  the  coast,  part  from  Washington, 
who  had  planned  another  sure  victory,  and  take  his  way 
to  Rodney  and  defeat.  Having  thus  failed  with  the 
French  admiral,  Washington  sent  to  Greene  all  the  troops 
he  could  spare,  and  then  started  north  to  Philadelphia. 
Letters  had  preceded  him  urging  the  old  advice  for  better 
administration  and  a  more  permanent  army,  just  as  if  there 
had  been  no  Yorktown  ;  and,  strange  to  say,  Congress 
fell  in  with  his  wishes,  filled  the  departments,  and  tried 
to  increase  the  army.  This  time  the  opposition  and  the 
feebleness  appeared  in  the  States  and  among  the  people. 
Public  sentiment  was  relaxed,  and  settled  down  easily  to 
the  comfortable  belief  that  Yorktown  had  decided  every- 

543 


544  THE    STORY    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 

thing,  and  that  all  was  over.  The  natural  result  followed 
in  failure  to  get  money  or  men.  Washington  believed 
that  Vorktown  had  probably  ended  the  struggle  ;  but  he 
lived  in  a  world  of  facts,  not  probabilities,  and  he  saw 
many  possible  and  existent  perils.  The  war  was  not  oven 
peace  was  not  made,  and,  if  England  held  off  and  let  the 
war  drag  on,  American  exhaustion  and  indifference  might 
yet  prove  fatal  and  undo  all  that  had  been  done.  So  when 
Washington  heard  that  the  Commons  had  asked  the  King 
to  make  peace,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Congress  warning 
them  of  danger  and  urging  continued  preparation.  Again 
he  wrote,  pointing  out  that  war  was  still  going  on  ;  and 
even  when  he  knew  that  negotiations  had  actually  begun, 
he  still  sent  words  of  warning  and  appeals  for  preparation 
to  continue  the  war.  He  produced  little  effect — the  States 
remained  inert,  the  war  smouldered  along  with  petty  affairs 
of  outposts,  and  still  peace  did  not  come.  Fortunately, 
the  neglect  of  Washington's  sound  counsels  bore  no  evil 
fruit,  for  England  was  more  deeply  hurt  than  he  dared  to 
think,  and  the  treaty  was  really  at  hancL/^' 

But  there  was  one  subject  upon  wmch  Congress  failed 
to  act  where  they  could  not  be  saved  by  the  breaking 
down  of  their  enemy.  This  was  the  treatment  of  their 
own  army,  and  here  there  was  no  excuse  to  be  made.  A 
fear  of  standing  armies  was  the  avowed  explanation  of 
their  inaction  ;  but  this  fear,  as  they  put  it  into  practice, 
was  unintelligent,  while  the  deeper  cause  was  their  own 
feebleness,  not  untinged  with  jealousy  of  the  men  who 
had  done  the  fighting.  But,  whatever  the  reasons,  the 
fact  remained  that  the  soldiers  were  unpaid  ;  that  no  pro 
vision  of  any  sort  was  made  for  them  ;  and  that  they 
seemed  on  the  brink  of  being  dismissed  to  their  homes,  in 


HOW   THE   WAR   ENDED  545 

many  cases  to  want  and  destitution,  with  no  compensa 
tion  but  the  memory  of  their  hardships  and  their  victories. 
Washington  was  profoundly  moved  by  the  attitude  and 
policy  of  Congress.  One  of  the  deepest  emotions  of  his 
strong  nature  was  love  for  his  soldiers,  for  those  who  had 
fought  with  him,  and  with  this  was  coupled  his  passionate 
hatred  of  injustice.  His  letters  to  those  in  authority  were 
not  only  full  of  hot  indignation,  but  bitter  in  their  denun 
ciation  of  a  policy  which  would  reduce  the  army  without 
providing  for  the  men,  as  they  were  mustered  out.  He 
saw,  too,  what  Congress  failed  to  see,  that  here  were  not 
only  injustice  and  ingratitude,  flagrant  and  even  cruel,  but 
a  great  and  menacing  danger.  It  is  a  perilous  business  to 
deal  out  injustice,  suffering,  and  want  to  the  armed  soldier, 
because  the  moment  is  sure  to  come  when  the  man  with 
the  musket  says  that,  if  anyone  is  to  be  wronged  or  starved, 
it  shall  not  be  himself.  What  kings,  Parliaments,  or  Con 
gresses  or  legislatures  refuse  unjustly,  human  nature  in  the 
armed  man  will  finally  take  by  force  ;  and  to  this  danger 
ous  frame  of  mind  the  American  army  was  fast  coming. 
Congress  and  the  States  went  cheerfully  along,  making 
a  few  indefinite  promises  and  doing  nothing,  while  the 
mutterings  and  murmurs  in  camp  began  to  grow  louder, 
until  at  last  they  found  expression  in  an  able  and  adroitly 
written  address,  the  work  of  John  Armstrong.  The 
voice  of  the  armed  man  was  rising  clearly  and  distinctly 
now.  It  declared  the  sufferings  and  sorrows  of  the  soldier 
and  the  ingratitude  of  Congress,  and  called  the  army  to 
action  and  to  the  use  of  force.  Thus  the  direct  appeal 
was  made.  Only  one  man  could  keep  words  from  becom 
ing  deeds,  and  Washington  came  forward  and  took  control 
of  the  whole  movement.  He  censured  the  address  in  general 


546  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

orders,  and  then  called,  himself,  a  meeting  of  the  officers. 
When  they  had  assembled,  Washington  arose  with  a  man 
uscript  in  his  hand,  and  as  he  took  out  his  glasses  he  said  : 
"  You  see,  gentlemen,  I  have  grown  both  blind  and  gray 
in  your  service."  Very  simple  words,  very  touching,  with 
a  pathos  which  no  rhetoric  could  give,  a  pathos  possible 
only  in  a  great  nature  deeply  stirred.  And  then  he  read 
his  speech — clear,  vigorous,  elevated  in  tone,  an  appeal  to 
the  past  and  to  patriotism,  an  earnest  prayer  to  leave  that 
past  unsullied  and  to  show  confidence  in  the  Government 
and  the  civil  power,  the  whole  ending  with  a  promise  that 
the  General  would  obtain  justice  for  the  army.  Then 
he  withdrew,  and  to  that  great  leadership  all  men  there 
yielded,  and  the  meeting  passed  resolutions  and  adjourned. 
At  last  Congress  listened.  The  proceedings  at  Newburg 
penetrated  even  their  indifference,  the  half-pay  was  com 
muted,  and  with  this  and  land  warrants,  and  with  the  priv 
ilege  of  taking  their  arms  home  with  them,  the  army  was 
fain  to  be  content.  It  was  not  much,  but  it  saved  the 
Congress  from  the  reproach  of  leaving  its  soldiers  destitute 
and  the  country  from  a  military  revolution  ;  for  no  less  a 
peril  lurked  behind  the  movement  which  Washington  con 
trolled  and  checked.  Underneath  the  Newburg  addresses 
and  the  murmurs  of  the  troops,  there  ran  a  strong  under 
current  of  well-defined  feeling  in  favor  of  taking  control  of 
the  Government.  The  army  was  the  one  organized,  effi 
cient  force  in  the  country,  their  comrades  in  arms  were 
scattered  through  all  the  towns  and  settlements,  and  they 
could  appeal  to  the  timid  and  the  selfish  everywhere  in  be 
half  of  order  and  strength  as  against  the  feeble,  impotent 
central  government  and  the  confused  rule  of  thirteen 
States.  All  that  they  lacked  was  a  leader,  and  the  great 


WASHINGTON'S  FAREWELL    TO  HIS    OFFICERS. 

With  a  heart  full  of  gratitude,  I  now   take  my  leave  of  you,  most  devoutly  wishing  that  your  latter  days 
as  prosperous'  and  happy  as  your  former  ones  have  been  glorious  and  honorable." 


HOW   THE   WAR   ENDED  549 

leader  was  there  at  their  head  if  he  would  only  consent  to 
serve.  Openly,  by  letter,  was  the  proposition  made  to 
Washington,  and  by  him  rejected  with  dignified  and  stern 
contempt.  Secretly,  the  same  whisper  was  ever  in  his 
ears,  and  nothing  would  have  been  easier  for  him  than  to 
have  become  a  "  Saviour  of  Society."  The  part  is  always 
a  fascinating  one  and  very  easily  converted  into  a  conscien 
tious  duty.  But  Washington  would  have  none  of  it.  He 
saw  this  fact  clearly,  as  he  saw  all  facts.  He  knew  what  the 
condition  of  the  times  made  possible,  but  the  part  of  mili 
tary  dictator  did  not  appeal  to  him.  He  was  too  great  a 
man  in  character  for  that  sort  of  work.  It  seemed  to  him 
that  it  would  be  a  vulgar  and  sorry  ending  to  the  great 
task  which  had  been  performed,  and  so  the  wide-open  easy 
opportunity  was  never  even  a  temptation.  His  one  de 
sire  was  to  have  the  Revolution  finish  as  it  began,  in  purity 
and  loftiness  of  purpose,  Unstained  by  any  self-seeking, 
crowned  with  success,  and  undisfigured  by  usurpation.  So 
he  held  his  army  in  hand,  prevented  force  and  violence, 
stopped  all  attempts  to  make  him  the  Caesar  or  Cromwell 
of  the  new  Republic,  and  longed  in  his  simple  fashion  very 
ardently  and  very  anxiously  to  get  back  to  his  farms  and 
gardens  at  Mount  Vernon. 

Late  in  March,  1783,  came  the  news  of  peace,  the  dan 
ger  from  the  army  disappeared,  and  the  fighting  was  done. 
Still  the  General  could  not  go  to  the  beloved  home  ;  still 
Congress  kept  him  employed  in  the  public  business,  al 
though  they  neither  adopted  nor  perhaps  understood  the 
wide  and  far-reaching  policies  which  he  then  urged  upon 
them.  Not  until  late  in  the  autumn  was  he  able  to  move 
his  army  down  the  Hudson  to  the  city  which  he  had  held 
so  long  surrounded.  At  last,  on  November  25th,  the  Brit- 


550  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ish  departed  and  Washington  marched  in  at  the  head  of 
his  men.  It  was  the  outward  and  visible  sign  that  the  war 
was  over  ;  and  as  Washington's  entrance  into  Boston  meant 
that  New  England  had  been  freed  from  English  rule,  so 
his  entrance  into  New  York  meant  that  the  Thirteen 
States  of  North  America  were  in  very  truth,  as  Congress 
seven  years  before  had  declared  that  they  were  and  ought 
to  be,  "free  and  independent." 

On  December  4th  the  officers  of  the  army  met  in 
Fraunces'  tavern  to  bid  their  chief  farewell.  Washington, 
as  he  rose  and  faced  them,  could  not  control  his  voice. 
He  lifted  a  glass  of  wine  and  said,  "With  a  heart  full  of 
love  and  gratitude,  I  now  take  my  leave  of  you,  most  de 
voutly  wishing  that  your  latter  days  may  be  as  prosperous 
and  happy  as  your  former  ones  have  been  glorious  and 
honorable."  They  drank  in  silence,  and  Washington  said, 
"  I  cannot  come  to  each  of  you  and  take  my  leave,  but 
shall  be  obliged  if  you  will  come  and  take  me  by  the  hand." 
Up  they  came,  one  by  one  ;  and  one  by  one  Washington, 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears,  embraced  them  and  said  farewell. 
From  the  tavern  they  followed  him  to  the  ferry,  \vhere  he 
entered  his  barge.  As  the  boat  moved  away,  he  rose  and 
lifted  his  hat.  His  officers  returned  the  salute  in  silence, 
and  all  was  over. 

One  great  scene  was  still  to  be  enacted,  when  at  Annap 
olis  Washington  returned  his  commission  to  Congress. 
But  let  us  leave  the  American  Revolution  here.  Let  us 
close  it  with  this  parting  at  the  water's  edge,  when  the 
man  without  whom  the  Revolution  would  have  failed  bade 
farewell  to  the  officers  and  men  without  whom  he  could 
not  have  won.  The  fighting  was  done,  the  Continental 
Army  was  dissolved.  That  noble  and  gracious  figure, 


HOW   THE   WAR   ENDED 


THE  HOME  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON 
AT  MOUNT  VERNON,  WITH  THE 
INTERIOR  OF  HIS  ROOM. 


standing  up  alone  and  bare 
headed  in  the  boat  which  was 
carrying  him  southward  and 
away  from  his  army,  signi 
fied  to  all  the  world  that  the  American  Revolution  had 
ended  in  complete  victory.  Perhaps  its  greatest  triumph 
was  that  it  had  brought  forth  such  a  leader  of  men  as  the 
one  now  returning  to  his  peaceful  home  at  Mount  Vernon, 
and  that,  thanks  to  him,  whatever  mistakes  had  been  made 
or  defeats  encountered,  the  war  of  the  people  for  a  larger 
liberty  closed  unsullied  by  violence  and  with  no  stain  of 
military  despotism  upon  its  record. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

THE   MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN   REVOLUTION 

SO  the  end  had  come.     The  English-speaking  people 
had  divided,  the  British  Empire  had  been  broken, 
the  American  Revolution  had  been  fought  out,  and 
a  new  nation   was  born.     Here,  surely,  was  a  very  great 
event,  full  of  significance  and  meaning  if  rightly  considered. 
What,  then,  did  it  really  mean  to  the  world  at  large,  and 
especially  to  the  people  who  had  made  the  fight,  and  were 
henceforth  to  be  two  nations  ? 

To  the  world  it  meant  the  beginning  of  the  democratic 
movement,  so  little  understood  at  the  moment,  so  very 
plain  to  all  now.  It  was  the  coming  of  a  new  force  into 
the  western  world  of  Europe  and  America.  A  people  had 
risen  in  arms,  and,  disregarding  all  traditions  and  all  habits, 
had  set  forth  the  declaration  that  they  were  to  govern  them 
selves  in  their  own  way,  and  that  government  was  no 
longer  to  be  the  privilege  of  one  man  called  a  king,  or  of 
any  class  of  men  by  mere  right  of  birth.  To  vindicate  this 
claim  they  had  fought,  using  the  only  method  by  which 
any  people  has  ever  been  able  to  prove  its  right  to  any 
thing  ;  and  thus  the  armed  people  in  opposition  to  the  dis 
ciplined  soldiers  of  royalty  had  come  into  existence,  and 
the  armed  people  had  won.  Great  facts  these,  ominous 
and  portentous  even,  and  yet  so  curiously  little  heeded  in 

552 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN    REVOLUTION   553 

their  deeper  meanings  at  the  moment.  France  thought 
only  that  she  had  crippled  England  and  taken  an  ample  re 
venge  for  the  past.  England  knew  that  she  had  received 
a  heavy  blow,  was  troubled  with  uneasy  forebodings,  sus 
pected  that  something  was  not  altogether  right  in  her 
system  of  administration,  and  began  to  stir  a  little  with 
abortive  projects  of  reform.  Europe  generally  looked  on 
stolidly,  felt  some  satisfaction  at  England's  misfortunes, 
and  regarded  the  affair  as  well  over,  with  much  benefit  to 
balances  of  power  and  other  delights  of  the  diplomatic  mind. 
Even  America  herself  thought  only  that  her  object  had 
been  obtained,  that  she  was  free  from  the  control  of  a  power 
over  seas,  and  set  to  work  to  deal  with  her  own  concerns 
in  a  fashion  by  no  means  creditable  at  the  outset.  None 
of  them  saw  the  strong,  deep  current  of  change  which  had 
set  in  that  April  morning  at  Concord,  and  which  had 
flowed  on  to  Yorktown.  It  sank  out  of  sight,  as  rivers 
sometimes  do  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  so  soon  as  peace 
was  made,  and  men  said  contentedly  that  there  was  no 
river  after  all.  Six  years  went  by,  and  the  stream  had 
corne  to  the  surface  once  more,  far  away  from  America 
this  time,  and  France  was  moving  with  a  deep  unrest. 
Now  the  current  was  flowing  fiercely  and  swiftly,  with  a 
headlong  rapidity  which  dazed  all  onlookers.  Privileges 
and  orders,  customs  and  Bastiles,  went  down  before  it,  and 
presently  other  things  too — men's  lives  and  royal  crowns 
and  the  heads  that  wore  them.  No  doubt  now  of  the 
meaning  which  had  been  obscured  in  America.  "The 
rights  of  man,"  "  Liberty,  equality,  fraternity,"  and  other 
strange  new  cries  were  heard  on  every  street-corner ;  and 
the  old  systems,  which  had  fostered  and  played  with  the 
American  Revolution,  waked  up  and  said,  "This  business 


1 


554          THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

must  be  stopped,  and  this  rabble  put  down."  And  then, 
behold,  it  could  not  be  done — the  rabble  could  not  be  put 
down  ;  and  the  armed  people,  twenty-five  millions  strong, 
flung  themselves  on  Europe,  rolled  back  the  royal  armies, 
and  carried  their  victories  and  their  doctrines  far  beyond 
the  borders  of  France. 

In  the  armed  people  democracy  had  produced  a  force 
against  which  the  old  systems  could  not  stand.  It  rushed 
forward  with  a  fervor,  an  energy,  and  a  wild  faith  which 
nothing  could  resist.  A  career  was  suddenly  opened  to 
talents,  and  from  the  inn  and  farm  and  tannery,  from  the 
petty  attorney's  office,  the  vineyard,  and  the  shop,  sprang 
up  men  who,  by  sheer  ability,  rose  to  command  armies, 
govern  nations,  and  fill  thrones.  Opportunity  was  no 
longer  confined  to  those  who  had  birth  and  rank,  to  the 
royal  bastard  or  the  Court  favorite,  and  the  old  system, 
shattered  by  this  unexpected  and  painful  discovery,  went 
down  in  ruins.  Concentrated  in  the  hands  of  one  man, 
the  new  force  swept  away  the  wretched  princelings  who 
sold  their  subjects  for  soldiers,  the  little  tyrants,  the  cor 
rupt  monarchies,  and  the  holy  inquisition,  still  powerful  in 
Spain.  To  meet  the  despotism  thus  engendered,  the 
people  of  Germany  and  the  people  of  Spain  had  to  be 
called  forth  to  join  England  and  Austria  and  Russia,  in 
order  to  save  the  national  existence  which  their  kings  had 
been  unable  to  protect.  Popular  force  was  met  at  last  by 
popular  force,  and  when  Napoleon  ended  at  Waterloo. 
Metternichs  and  Bourbons  and  Liverpools  and  other  wise 
persons,  who  had  forgotten  a  great  deal  and  learned  noth 
ing,  thought  that  all  was  over,  that  nothing  remained  but 
to  return  to  the  nice  old  systems  of  the  previous  century, 
and  that  everything  would  again  be  quiet  and  comfortable. 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN   REVOLUTION    555 

But  it  soon  appeared  that,  although  a  man  had  been  de 
feated,  the  force  which  had  made  him  possible  and  the  move 
ment  which  had  borne  him  forward  had  not  been  defeated 
at  all.  The  old  system  did  not  work  well.  There  were 
outbreaks  and  unrest,  and  a  Holy  Alliance  had  to  be 
made ;  and  then  an  English  statesman  called  in  the  New 
World,  which  had  started  the  whole  movement,  to  redress 
the  balance  of  the  Old,  and  the  entire  continental  Empire 
of  Spain  in  the  Americas  broke  off  and  became  democratic, 
causing  great  annoyance  and  perplexity  to  persons  of  J:he 
Metternich  kind.  In  1830  another  revolution  came  in 
France,  and  the  sorry  revival  of  kings  by  divine  right  van 
ished  in  the  days  of  July  among  the  barricades  of  Paris. 
England,  meantime,  had  tried  to  meet  her  own  unrest  by 
Peterloo  and  similar  performances,  and  the  answer  had  not 
proved  satisfactory.  Something  different  was  clearly  need 
ed,  and  in  1832,  with  the  splendid  sense  so  characteristic  of 
the  English  people,  the  Reform  Bill  was  passed,  the  demo 
cratic  movement  was  recognized,  a  revolution  of  arms  was 
avoided,  and  a  peaceful  revolution  consummated.  Mean- 
\vhile  Greece  had  escaped  from  Turkey,  and  the  movement 
of  the  people  to  hold  or  share  in  the  business  of  governing 
went  steadily  forward.  There  were  years  when  it  seemed 
wholly  repressed  and  hopeless,  and  then  years  like  1848, 
when  it  rose  in  its  might,  crushed  everything  in  its  path, 
and  took  a  long  step  ahead,  with  the  inevitable  reaction 
afterward,  until  a  fresh  wave  gathered  strength  and  rolled 
again  a  little  higher  up  with  the  ever-rising  tide.  Italy 
broke  away  from  Austria  and  gained  her  national  unity  ; 
representative  systems  with  more  or  less  power  came  into 
being  in  every  European  country,  except  Russia  and  Tur 
key  ;  the  wretched  little  tyrants  of  the  petty  states  of  Ger- 


556  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

many  and  Italy,  the  oppressive  temporal  government  of 
the  Pope,  have  all  been  swept  out  of  existence,  and  given 
place  to  a  larger  national  life  and  to  a  recognition  more  or 
less  complete  of  the  power  and  rights  of  the  people.  Even 
to-day,  in  obedience  to  the  same  law,  the  colonial  despot 
ism  of  Spain  has  perished  from  the  face  of  the  earth 
because  it  was  a  hideous  anachronism. 

The  democratic  movement  has  gone  so  far  and  so  fast 
that  it  is  but  little  heeded  now,  and  men  have  become 
almost  entirely  oblivious  of  its  existence.  Yet  it  is  never 
still,  it  is  always  advancing.  It  has  established  itself  in 
Japan,  it  cannot  be  disregarded  even  by  the  master  of  the 
German  armies,  and  before  many  years  it  will  be  felt  in 
Russia.  So  rapid  has  been  its  progress  and  so  complete 
its  victories  that  men  forget  what  it  has  accomplished,  turn 
their  whole  attention  to  the  evils  which  it  has  left  un 
touched,  and  are  in  some  instances  ready  not  merely  to 
criticise  it,  but  to  proclaim  it  a  failure.  The  statesman  who 
declared  that  gratitude  was  a  lively  sense  of  favors  to  come 
uttered  not  merely  a  brilliant  epigram  but  a  profound 
philosophic  truth,  which  applies  not  only  to  human  beings, 
but  to  theories  of  life  and  to  systems  of  government. 
When  the  democratic  movement  began,  and  for  three- 
quarters  of  a  century  afterward,  the  men  who  were  fight 
ing  for  liberty  and  the  rights  of  man  believed,  as  all  genu 
ine  reformers  must  believe,  that  if  this  vast  change  were 
carried  out,  if  tyranny  were  abolished,  if  votes  and  a  share 
in  the  government  were  given  to  the  people,  then  all  the 
evils  flesh  is  heir  to  would  surely  disappear.  The  great 
political  reform  has  been,  in  large  measure,  accomplished, 
and  nevertheless  many  evils  yet  remain.  There  are  still 
poverty,  suffering,  ignorance,  injustice,  lack  of  oppor- 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN    REVOLUTION  557 

tunity,  crime,  and  misery  in  the  world  in  large  abundance, 
and  so  some  men  hasten  to  say  that  democracy  has  failed. 
They  forget  what  democracy  has  done,  and  see  only  what 
it  has  left  undone.  The  great  political  reform  in  which 
men  believed  so  passionately,  and  for  which  they  fought 
and  died  and  suffered,  has  come  and  is  still  growing  and 
expanding ;  and  yet  the  earth  is  not  a  Utopia,  nor  have  sin 
and  sorrow  vanished.  It  is  the  old  story  ;  the  universal 
remedy  was  not  a  panacea  after  all,  and  the  fact  is  over 
looked  that  there  are  no  panaceas  for  human  ills,  and  that 
the  only  fair  way  to  judge  a  great  reform  or  a  sweeping 
social  and  political  movement  is  by  its  results,  and  not  by 
fixing  our  eyes  solely  on  those  evils  which  it  has  left  un 
touched  and  which  it  is  powerless  to  cure.  Tried  in  this 
way,  by  the  only  just  standard,  democracy  has  been  a  mar 
vellous  success — more  helpful,  more  beneficial  to  the  human 
race  than  any  other  political  system  yet  devised  by  man. 
To  it  we  owe  the  freedom  of  thought,  the  freedom  of  con 
science,  the  freedom  of  speech,  which  exist  to-day  in  their 
fulness  among  the  English-speaking  people,  and  more  or 
less  completely  among  all  the  great  nations  of  western 
Europe.  No  longer  can  men  be  powerful  solely  by  the 
accident  of  birth,  or  be  endowed  from  the  cradle  with  the 
right  to  torture,  outrage,  and  imprison  their  fellow-beings 
less  fortunately  born. 

The  craving  of  this  present  time  is  for  greater  equality 
of  opportunity,  but  it  is  to  the  democratic  movement  that 
we  owe  the  vast  enlargement  to  all  men  of  the  oppor 
tunity  for  happiness  and  success  since  1776.  We  picture 
easily  to  ourselves  the  tyrannies  and  oppressions  of  the 
Old  World  which  went  down  in  the  tempest  of  the  French 
Revolution,  and  were  so  completely  effaced  that  the  aver- 


553  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

age  man  in  Europe  neither  knows  nor  realizes  that  they 
ever  existed.  But  we  are  prone  to  think  that  in  America, 
where  government  was  always  easy  and  light,  the  change 
wrought  by  democracy  has  been  trifling  and  that  we  owe 
it  little.  Many  men  see  defects  and  shortcomings  in  our 
municipal  governments  with  great  clearness,  and  some  of 
them,  while  they  shake  their  heads  over  the  democracy 
which  they  believe  guilty  of  these  faults,  are  utterly  blind 
to  the  great  fact  that  democracy  made  slavery  impossible 
and  crushed  it  out  only  a  generation  ago — a  deed  for 
humanity  which  makes  all  other  achievements  look  small. 
The  same  holds  true  in  lesser  things.  We  know,  for  ex 
ample,  how  democracy  has  softened  and  reformed  the  aw 
ful  criminal  code  of  the  England  of  Pitt  and  Fox,  and 
wiped  out  the  miseries  of  the  debtors'  prisons  which  Dick 
ens  described  thirty  years  later  ;  but  we  overlook  the  fact 
that  we  ourselves  were  but  little  better  in  these  respects. 
Robert  Morris,  the  patriot  who  upheld  the  breaking  credit 
and  failing  treasury  of  the  confederation  in  the  last  days 
of  the  Revolution,  and  gave  to  the  American  cause  freely 
from  his  own  purse,  passed  four  years  in  prison  in  his  old 
age  for  the  crime  of  having  failed  in  business.  Such  a 
punishment  inflicted  by  the  law  for  such  a  cause  would 
be  impossible  now,  and  yet  this  is  but  an  illustration  of 
the  vast  change  effected  by  democracy  in  the  relations  of 
men  one  to  another.  The  altruism  which  is  so  marked 
a  feature  of  the  century  just  closing  is  the  outcome  of 
democracy.  To  the  man  who  shares  in  the  government 
of  his  country,  or  who  has  political  rights,  sympathy  must 
be  given  by  his  fellows,  for  in  one  great  relation  of  life 
they  all  stand  together.  Nothing  is  more  hardening,  noth 
ing  tends  more  to  cruelty,  than  the  rigid  separation  of 


MEANING   OF   T.HE   AMERICAN   REVOLUTION 


559 


classes ;  and  when  all  men  have  certain  common  politi 
cal  rights  and  an  equality  before  the  law  the  class-line  is 
shattered,  and  men  cannot  consider  other  men  as  creatures 
wholly  apart,  whose  sufferings  are  a  matter  of  indifference. 
The  great  work  of  democracy  has  been  in  widening  sym 
pathy,  in  softening  and  humanizing  laws,  customs,  and 
manners.  The  debt  due  to  it  in  this  way  no  man  can  esti 
mate  ;  for  no  man  can  now  realize,  in  imagination,  the 
sufferings,  oppressions,  cruelties,  and  heartless  indifference 
of  society  a  hundred  years  ago  which  democracy  has  swept 
away.  Democracy  is  fallible  and  imperfect,  because  hu 
man  nature  is  so  ;  but  it  has  come,  it  has  brought  untold 
good  to  mankind,  it  will  bring  yet  more.  It  makes  for 
humanity,  civilization,  and  the  uplifting  of  the  whole  race, 
and  it  will  in  greater  and  greater  measure  dominate  the 
world  and  control  governments.  No  man  can  stay  its 
resistless  march,  and  under  various  forms  the  principle 
that  the  people  are  to  have  their  own  governments,  good 
or  bad,  no  matter  what  the  outward  dress,  and  that  the 
last  word  is  with  the  people,  is  rising  every  day  to  more 
supreme  dominion  in  the  affairs  of  men.  This  great  move 
ment,  which  overthrew  the  world's  equilibrium,  brought 
new  forces  into  being,  and  changed  society  and  govern 
ments,  began  in  America  with  the  Continental  Congress 
and  the  flash  of  the  guns  at  Lexington  and  Concord.  It 
closed  its  first  chapter  at  Yorktown,  and  by  the  treaty  of 
Paris  it  was  acknowledged  that  a  people  had  won  the  right  to 
rule  themselves.  A  very  momentous  conclusion  this,  and  it 
was  the  message  of  the  American  Revolution  to  mankind. 

To  those  immediately  concerned  in  and  most  closely 
touched  by   it,    the   Revolution  brought  other   meanings 


56o  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

besides  that  shared  by  the  world  at  large,  and  these,  too, 
merit  consideration.  Let  us  inquire  briefly  what  the 
effect  was  on  the  combatants  themselves,  upon  the  two 
divisions  of  the  English-speaking  people  thus  created  by 
war.  Hostile  statesmen  on  the  Continent  were  not  slow 
to  predict  that  the  severance  of  her  Empire  and  the  loss 
of  her  North  American  colonies  meant  the  downfall  of 
Great  Britain.  Even  in  England  prophecies  were  not 
lacking  that  the  zenith  of  her  fortunes  had  passed  and 
her  decline  begun.  These  forebodings — the  offspring  of 
that  cheap  wisdom  which  is  empty  of  hope,  void  of 
imagination^  and  sees  only  the  past — were  soon  set  at 
naught.  In  the  great  wars  which  followed  the  French 
Revolution,  the  indomitable  spirit  of  England  raised  her 
to  a  higher  pinnacle  of  power  and  splendor  than  she  had 
ever  attained  before,  and  the  victories  of  war  were  fol 
lowed  by  the  wonderful  career  of  colonial  expansion  and 
growing  wealth  of  which  this  century  has  been  the  witness. 
Heavy  as  the  loss  of  the  North  American  Colonies  was 
at  the  time,  the  American  Revolution,  although  it  divided 
the  Empire  of  Great  Britain,  did  not  check  its  growth  in 
other  regions  and  in  lands  almost  unknown  to  the  eigh 
teenth  century.  One  great  reason  for  the  marvellous  de 
velopment  of  England,  and  for  the  success  which  has  fol 
lowed  her  arms  and  her  commerce  ever  since  the  American 
Revolution,  was  the  fact  that  by  that  bitter  experience  she 
learned  well  one  great  lesson.  Never  again  did  England 
make  the  mistakes  or  engage  in  the  blundering  policy 
which  lost  her  all  North  America  south  of  the  Canadian 
frontier.  No  other  English  colonies  were  ever  treated  as 
those  of  the  Atlantic  seaboard  had  been  ;  and  the  wise 
colonial  policy  which  has  enabled  England,  while  giving 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN   REVOLUTION   561 

to  her  colonies  everywhere  the  largest  liberty,  at  the  same 
time,  to  grapple  them  to  her  with  hooks  of  steel,  was  as 
much  the  result  of  the  American  Revolution  as  the  Peace 
of  Paris.  In  England's  ability  to  learn  this  lesson  we  can 
see  the  secret  of  her  wonderful  success,  and  can  contrast 
it  with  the  history  of  Spain,  whose  barbarous  colonial 
policy  has  cost  her  an  empire  and  taught  her  nothing  in 
the  process. 

But  although  England  learned  this  lesson  and  profited 
by  it  with  results  which  have  surpassed  the  most  un 
bounded  hopes  of  her  statesmen  and  people,  there  was 
another  lesson  which  she  utterly  failed  to  heed.  She 
learned  how  to  deal  with  her  other  colonies,  and  with 
those  still  greater  ones  which  she  was  destined  to  win, 
but  she  learned  nothing  as  to  the  proper  way  to  treat 
the  people  whom  she  had  driven  into  revolt  and  lost,  and 
who  differed  in  no  essential  respect  from  English-speak 
ing  people  elsewhere.  Toward  them  she  maintained  the 
same  attitude  which  had  driven  them  into  rebellion,  and 
which  now  could  only  alienate  them  still  further.  The 
Americans,  on  their  side,  after  the  war  feeling  had  sub 
sided,  were  only  too  ready  to  renew  with  the  mother- 
country  the  closest  and  most  friendly  relations.  It  is 
easier  to  cut  political  bonds  than  it  is  to  sever  the  ties 
of  blood  and  speech,  and,  above  all,  habits  of  daily  life 
and  intercourse,  which,  impalpable  as  they  are,  outlast 
constitutions  and  governments.  Every  habit  of  thought 
and  of  business,  every  natural  prejudice  and  interest,  still 
bound  the  Americans  to  England.  Had  she  so  willed 
she  could  in  a  few  years  have  had  the  growing  trade,  the 
expanding  markets,  and  the  political  sympathy  of  Amer 
ica  as  completely  in  every  practical  way  as  if  the  States 


562  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

had  remained  her  colonies.  And  it  was  all  so  simple. 
An  evident  desire  to  cultivate  good  relations  with  the 
United  States,  kind  words,  a  declared  policy  of  not  inter 
fering  with  the  Western  movement  from  the  Atlantic 
States,  a  little  generosity,  and  England  would  have  made 
America  her  friend  and  kept  her  as  her  ally  in  the  troub 
lous  years  which  were  to  follow.  Instead  of  this,  a  course 
of  conduct  was  adopted  which  seemed  like  a  settled  policy 
of  injuring  America  in  every  possible  way,  of  retarding 
her  growth  and  alienating  her  people.  Our  early  repre 
sentatives  in  London  were  flouted  and  treated  with  rude 
ness  and  disdain.  Everything  possible  was  done  to  inter 
fere  with  and  break  up  our  West  Indian  commerce,  and 
Lord  Dorchester  openly  incited  the  Indian  tribes  to  attack 
our  Western  settlements,  with  a  view  to  preventing  their 
advance — a  piece  of  savagery  it  is  now  difficult  to  con 
ceive,  and  which  America  found  it  hard  to  forgive.  Un 
der  the  pressure  of  the  struggle  with  France,  England 
finally  consented  to  make  a  treaty,  and  drove  with  Jay  a 
hard  bargain  from  our  necessities.  Then  came  the  sec 
ond  period  of  Napoleonic  wars.  The  most  ordinary  sense 
would  seem  to  have  dictated  a  policy  which  would  have 
made  the  Americans,  who  were  at  that  time  the  great  sea 
faring  people  among  the  neutral  nations,  the  ally  of 
England  in  the  desperate  conflict  in  which  she  was  en 
gaged.  Even  Jefferson,  as  we  now  know,  with  all  his 
reputed  and  apparent  hostility  to  England,  tried  to  bring 
about  close  relations  between  the  two  countries.  But 
England  pursued  a  steady  course  of  hostility.  There 
was  no  injury  or  wrong  which  she  failed  to  do  us  ;  no 
insult  was  spared  -us  by  her  public  men.  English  bru 
tality  surpassed  even  the  cynical  outrages  heaped  upon 


MEANING  OF  THE  AMERICAN  REVOLUTION     563 

us  by  Napoleon,  and  brought  at  last  the  War  of  1812, 
a  righteous  war  of  resistance  and  one  bringing  most 
valuable  results  to  the  United  States.  "The  fir  frigates, 
with  a  bit  of  bunting  at  the  top,"  at  which  Canning  had 
jeered  in  the  House  of  Commons,  whipped  England's 
frigates  in  eleven  actions  out  of  thirteen,  while  Perry  and 
McDonough  crushed  her  flotillas  on  the  lakes.  British 
troops  burned  Washington,  but  Jackson,  with  six  thou 
sand  men,  routed  ten  thousand  of  Wellington's  veterans 
at  New  Orleans — an  ample  compensation.  Ill-conducted 
as  the  war  by  land  was  on  the  American  side,  our  naval 
victories  and  the  fact  that  we  had  fought  won  us  our  place 
among  nations,  and  relieved  us  finally  from  the  insults  and 
the  attacks  to  which  we  had  before  been  subjected. 

England  suffered  in  her  naval  prestige,  gained  ab 
solutely  nothing  by  conquest,  was  forced  to  respect  our 
flag  on  the  seas,  and  had  embittered  feeling  between  the 
two  kindred  countries.  The  utter  fatuity  of  such  a  policy, 
fraught  as  it  was  with  such  results,  seems  sufficiently  ob 
vious  now,  and  it  quite  equalled  in  stupidity  that  which 
brought  the  Revolution  and  cost  England  her  colonies. 

Nevertheless,  for  a  time,  the  War  of  1812  improved 
our  mutual  relations.  Americans  were  pleased  by  their 
successes  on  sea  and  by  the  victory  of  New  Orleans, 
while  England  both  felt  and  manifested  a  respect  for  a 
people  who  had  fought  her  so  hard.  The  result  was 
seen  in  a  better  understanding  and  in  the  Monroe  Doc 
trine,  which  was  stimulated  by  Canning's  "  calling  in  the 
New  World  to  redress  the  balance  of  the  Old,"  although 
he  soon  abandoned  and  denounced  the  American  policy 
of  Adams  and  Monroe.  So  easy  was  it  for  the  two 
nations  to  come  together  when  the  older  country  did  not 
put  obstacles  in  the  way.  But  the  fair  prospect  was  soon 


564  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

overclouded.  The  English  traveller  and  author  came  in 
as  the  century  advanced,  to  widen  the  breach  between 
the  two  countries  more  effectively,  perhaps,  than  the 
statesmen  had  done.  We  had  already  enjoyed  a  taste 
of  this  criticism  in  the  writings  of  Mr.  Thomas  Moore, 
who  came  to  the  United  States  at  the  beginning  of  the 
century  and  mourned  over  our  decay,  in  verses  of  trifling 
poetical  merit  and  great  smoothness  of  rhyme  and  metre. 
But  thirty  years  later  there  arose  a  swarm  of  writers,  of 
whom  Mrs.  Trollope  and  Dickens  were,  perhaps,  the  most 
conspicuous,  who  gratified  their  own  feelings  and  met 
their  home  market  with  descriptions  of  the  United  States 
and  its  people  which  left  nothing  offensive  unsaid.  Our 
hospitality  to  our  critics  was  no  protection  to  us,  and  a 
sense  of  ingratitude  added  poison  to  the  smart  of  wounded 
vanity.  We  were  a  young  nation,  beginning  to  grow  very 
rapidly,  engaged  in  the  hard,  rough  work  of  subduing  a 
continent.  We  had  all  the  faults  and  shortcomings  of 
a  new  and  quickly  growing  community  ;  and  no  doubt 
a  great  deal  of  what  our  critics  said  was  perfectly  true, 
which  may  have  sharpened  the  sting.  But  the  faults  were 
largely  superficial,  and  the  nation  was  engaged  in  a  great 
work  and  was  sound  at  the  core.  This  fact  our  English 
critics  had  not  the  generosity  to  admit,  and  their  refusal 
to  do  so  galled  our  pride. 

We  had  one  great  defect  of  youth,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  We  were  weakly  and  abnormally  sensitive  to 
outside  and  adverse  criticism.  Attacks  or  satire  which 
no  one  would  notice  now  except  to  laugh  at  them,  which, 
for  the  most  part,  would  not  be  heard  of  at  all  to-day,  in 
the  first  half  of  the  century  cut  us  to  the  quick.  That 
they  should  have  done  so  was,  no  doubt,  foolish  and 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN    REVOLUTION   565 

youthful  ;  but  that  does  not  affect  the  question  of  whether 
it  was  wise  in  England  through  her  newspapers,  her  au 
thors,  and  her  magazines  to  treat  the  United  States  sys 
tematically,  so  far  as  one  could  see,  in  a  manner  which,  as 
Mr.  Justice  Maule  said  to  Sir  Richard  Bethell,  "would 
have  been  an  insult  from  God  Almighty  to  a  black 
beetle."  Was  it  worth  while  to  take  so  much  pains 
to  convert  into  enemies  a  great  and  growing  people 
who  spoke  the  same  tongue,  had  the  same  aspirations, 
and  were  naturally  inclined  to  be  friends  with  the  old 
home  which  their  ancestors  had  left  so  many  years  be 
fore  ? 

There  was  one  criticism,  however,  which  the  English 
made,  and  which  they  had  the  right,  even  the  duty,  to 
make  without  mercy,  and  they  did  it  unsparingly.  No  de 
nunciation  could  be  too  severe  of  English-speaking  people 
who  in  the  nineteenth  century  boasted  of  their  own  freedom 
and  maintained  human  slavery.  To  this  righteous  criticism 
of  the  United  States  there  could  be  no  answer,  and  there 
was  none.  But  the  years  went  by  and  brought,  in  due 
time,  the  inevitable  conflict  between  slavery  and  freedom. 
The  North  was  fighting  for  Union,  but  its  victory  meant 
the  downfall  of  slavery.  The  loyal  North  therefore  turned 
confidently  for  support  to  England,  which  had  denounced 
American  slavery,  and  found  the  sympathy  of  her  Gov 
ernment  and  ruling  classes  given  wholly  to  the  slave- 
holding  South.  Never  was  there  a  more  painful,  a 
more  awful  surprise.  England  went  far  enough  in  ad 
verse  action  to  fill  the  North  with  bitterness,  and  not 
far  enough  to  leave  the  South  with  anything  but  a  sense 
of  betrayal  and  the  anger  of  the  vanquished  against  a  false 
friend.  At  last  the  Union  emerged  triumphant  from  its 


566  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

great  life  and  death  struggle.  In  those  four  dark  years 
our  youth  had  gone  ;  and  we  came  out  not  only  with  a 
conviction  of  our  own  strength,  but  with  an  utter  indiffer 
ence  to  foreign  opinion,  which  was  as  right  and  wholesome 
as  our  former  sensitiveness  had  been  foolish  and  unwise. 
None  the  less,  the  memories  of  England's  conduct  in  our 
hour  of  need  rankled  deeply— and  we  regarded  Mr.  Glad 
stone's  wise  and  statesmanlike  policy  of  arbitration  as 
merely  extorted  by  the  respect  which  military  power  and 
success  always  produce. 

Again  the  years  went  by,  and  the  old  animosities  had 
begun  to  quiet  down  when  the  seal  controversy  arose, 
and  America  was  utterly  unable  to  understand  why  Eng 
land  should  insist  on  a  course  of  action  which  has  re 
sulted  and  could  only  result  in  the  destruction  of  those 
valuable  herds.  Her  action  throughout  this  unlucky 
question  seemed  as  if  dictated  by  mere  malice.  Then 
came  Venezuela,  and  a  few  plain,  rough  words  from  Mr. 
Cleveland  brought  a  just  settlement  of  a  question  very 
momentous  in  its  meanings  to  the  United  States,  which 
twenty  years  of  civil  remonstrance  and  argument  had 
failed  to  obtain.  England,  careless  of  the  past,  wondered 
at  the  sudden  burst  of  hostility  in  the  United  States ; 
while  Americans  were  brought  to  believe  that  we  could 
get  neither  justice  nor  civility  from  England,  except  by 
harsh  words  and  by  going  even  to  the  verge  of  war.  It 
was  not  a  very  encouraging  sight,  this  spectacle  then  pre 
sented  by  the  two  great  English-speaking  nations.  Such 
a  frame  of  mind,  such  an  attitude,  was  something  to  won 
der  at,  not  to  praise.  Be  it  remembered,  also,  that  the 
Americans  are  not  ungrateful  and  have  never  been  slow 
to  recognize  their  friends  in  England.  They  have  never 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN    REVOLUTION  567 

forgotten  that  the  Queen  and  Prince  Albert,  John  Bright 
and  Richard  Cobden,  and  the  workingmen  of  England 
were  their  friends  and  stood  by  them  in  the  Civil  War. 
They  recall,  not  without  a  touch  of  pride,  that  the  friends 
of  America  in  England  include  not  only  those  of  the  dark 
days  of  1861,  but  the  great  names  of  Chatham  and  Burke, 
of  Fox  and  Camden,  even  when  revolution  tore  the  Em 
pire  asunder.  But  the  friends  of  America  thus  far  have 
never  been  the  Government  or  the  Ministry,  or  the  mass 
of  the  ruling  classes  in  England. 

Less  than  a  year  ago  I  should  have  stopped  here,  with 
words  of  regret  that  the  lesson  of  the  American  Revolu 
tion,  so  far  as  the  United  States  was  concerned,  had  not 
yet  been  learned  by  England,  and  the  expression  of  the 
earnest  hope  that  this  mastery  of  its  meaning  might  not 
be  much  further  delayed.  Now  it  is  no  longer  possible 
to  stop  here.  Events  have  shown  that  the  lesson  of  the 
Revolution  has  at  last  been  learned,  and  that  all  that  has 
just  been  said  as  to  the  ease  with  which  the  friendship  of 
the  United  States  could  be  obtained  by  England  is  more 
than  justified.  It  could  not  well  be  otherwise,  when  right 
methods  were  pursued,  for  friendship  between  the  two  na 
tions  is  natural,  not  only  by  the  common  speech,  hopes, 
beliefs,  and  ideals,  but  by  the  much  stronger  ties  of  real 
interest,  while  enmity  is  unnatural  and  can  be  created  only 
by  effort. 

The  United  States  went  to  war  with  Spain.  It  is 
now  easily  seen  that  the  conflict  was  inevitable.  "  If  it 
be  now,  'tis  not  to  come  ;  if  it  be  not  to  come,  it  will  be 
now  ;  if  it  be  not  now,  yet  it  will  come  ;  the  readiness  is 
all."  Spanish  colonial  despotism  and  the  free  government 
of  the  United  States  could  not  exist  longer  side  by  side. 


568  THE  STORY   OF  THE   REVOLUTION 

The  conflict,  which  had  been  going  on  for  a  century,  was 
as  inexorable  as  that  between  freedom  and  slavery.  The 
war  happened  to  come  now  instead  of  later,  that  is  all. 
Once  engaged  in  war  the  United  States  neither  desired 
nor  needed  aid  from  anyone.  But  nations  as  well  as  men 
like  sympathy.  From  the  people  of  Europe  we  met  with 
neutrality,  but  also  with  criticism,  attack,  and  with  every 
manifestation  of  dislike  in  greater  or  less  degree,  and  from 
Germany,  with  a  thinly  veiled,  mousing  hostility  which 
did  not  become  overt,  because,  like  the  poor  cat  in  the 
adage,  it  let  "  I  dare  not  wait  upon  I  would."  From  the 
English-speaking  people  everywhere  came,  on  the  other 
hand,  spontaneous,  heartfelt  sympathy,  and  England's  Gov 
ernment  showed  that  the  sympathy  of  the  people  was  rep 
resented  in  her  rulers.  That  was  all  that  was  needed,  all 
that  was  ever  needed.  No  matter  what  the  reason,  the 
fact  was  there.  The  lesson  of  the  American  Revolution 
was  plain  at  last,  and  the  attitude  of  sympathy,  the  policy 
which  would  have  prevented  that  Revolution,  finally  was 
given  to  the  great  nation  that  has  sprung  from  the  Colo 
nies  which  Washington  led  to  independence.  How  Amer 
ica  has  responded  to  the  sympathy  of  England  all  men 
know,  better  perhaps  in  the  United  States  than  anywhere 
else.  Community  of  sympathy  and  interest  will  make  a 
friendship  between  the  nations  far  stronger  than  any 
treaties  can  create.  The  artificial  barriers  are  down,  and 
all  right-thinking  men  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  must 
earnestly  strive  to  prove  that  it  is  not  a  facile  optimism 
\vhich  now  believes  that  the  friendship  so  long  postponed 
and  so  full  of  promise  for  humanity  and  civilization  must 
long  endure.  The  millions  who  speak  the  English  tongue 
in  all  parts  of  the  earth  must  surely  see  now  that,  once 


ALEXANDER  HAMILTON. 
From  the  painting  by  John  Trumbull,  1792, 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN    REVOLUTION    5/1 

united  in  friendship,  it  can  be  said,  even  as  Shakespeare 
said  three  hundred  years  ago  : 

Come  the  three  corners  of  the  world  in  arms, 
And  we  shall  shock  them. 


To  the  victorious  Americans  the  Revolution  meant,  at 
first,  simply  that  they  had  freed  their  country  from  Eng 
lish  rule,  and  henceforth  were  to  govern  themselves.  With 
the  close  of  the  war  it  seemed  to  them  that  all  was  com 
pleted,  and  that  they  had  nothing  to  do  but  go  on  in  the 
old  way  with  their  State  governments.  Washington  and 
Hamilton  and  others  who  thought  deeply  and  were  charged 
with  heavy  responsibility  saw  very  plainly  that  there  must 
be  a  better  central  Government,  or  else  America  would 
degenerate  into  thirteen  jarring  and  warring  States,  and 
the  American  Revolution  would  prove  a  more  dire  failure 
in  its  triumphant  outcome  than  any  defeat  in  battle  could 
have  brought.  The  earnest  words  of  Washington  fell  on 
deaf  ears,  even  while  war  was  in  progress ;  and  when  the 
pressure  of  war  was  withdrawn  the  feeble  confederation 
dropped  to  pieces,  disorder  broke  out  in  various  quarters, 
new  states  began  to  spring  up,  and  disintegration  spread 
and  became  threatening.  The  American  people  had  won 
in  fight  the  right  and  opportunity  to  govern  themselves, 
and  the  great  question  which  now  confronted  them  was 
whether  they  were  able  and  fit  to  do  it.  It  was  soon 
apparent  that  the  Revolution  had  for  them  not  merely 
the  message  that  they  had  freed  themselves  from  Eng 
land,  but  far  deeper  meanings.  They  had  proved  that 
they  could  fight.  Could  they  also  prove  that  they  were 
worthy  of  the  victory  they  had  won,  and  that  they  had 


5/2  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  right  to  live  as  a  people  ?  Could  they  make  a  nation, 
or  were  they  incapable  of  that  great  achievement,  and 
able  only  to  go  jarring  on  to  nothingness,  a  wrangling 
collection  of  petty  republics  ?  Here  was  a  task  far 
heavier,  infinitely  more  difficult,  than  that  of  armed  revo 
lution.  They  had  shown  that  they  were  a  fighting  people, 
as  was  to  have  been  expected.  Could  they  also  show  that 
they  were  likewise  a  great  people  capable  of  building  up 
a  nation,  capable  of  construction,  with  the  ruling,  con 
quering,  imperial  instinct  of  their  race  still  vital  and  strong 
within  them  ?  The  answer  the  American  people  gave  to 
these  questions  of  life  and  death,  which  all  the  peoples  of 
the  earth  have  to  answer  rightly  or  perish,  is  the  history 
of  the  United  States.  They  dragged  themselves  out  of 
the  disintegration  and  chaos  of  the  confederation  and 
formed  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  It  was 
hard  work,  there  were  many  narrow  escapes,  much  bitter 
opposition,  but  the  great  step  was  taken  and  the  instru 
ment  adopted  which  made  a  nation  possible.  The  strug 
gle  then  began  in  earnest,  and  lasted  for  three-quarters 
of  a  century,  between  the  forces  of  separatism,  which 
meant  at  bottom  a  return  to  chaos  and  to  that  disorder 
which  is  hateful  to  gods  and  men,  and  the  forces  of  union, 
which  meant  order,  strength,  and  power.  It  was  a  long 
and  doubtful  conflict.  The  Constitution  was  tried  in  its 
infancy  by  the  Whiskey  Rebellion,  a  little  later  it  was 
threatened  by  Virginia  and  Kentucky,  a  little  later  still 
by  New  England,  then  by  South  Carolina  and  nullifica 
tion  ;  and  yet  through  all  and  under  all  the  national  spirit 
was  growing,  and  the  Constitution  was  changing  from  a 
noble  experiment  into  the  charter  of  a  nation.  At  last 
the  supreme  test  came.  Freedom  and  slavery,  two  hostile 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN    REVOLUTION   573 

social  and  economic  systems,  were  struggling  for  domina 
tion.  They  could  not  live  side  by  side.  One  must  go, 
and  in  their  irrepressible  conflict  they  brought  civil  war. 
It  was  the  final  trial.  In  the  terrible  ordeal  of  battle  the 
national  principle  prevailed,  and  it  was  shown  that  democ 
racy,  though  slow  to  enter  upon  war,  could  fight  with 
relentless  determination  for  a  complete  victory. 

The  Civil  War  ended  the  struggle  between  the  principle 
of  separatism  and  that  of  union  and  undivided  empire. 
The  national  principle  henceforth  was  to  have  unquestioned 
sway.  But  during  all  the  seventy-five  years  of  strife  be 
tween  the  contending  principles,  another  great  movement 
had  been  going  forward,  which  was  itself  indeed  a  child  of 
the  national  spirit  and  the  outcome  of  the  instinct  of  a 
governing  race.  We  began  to  widen  our  borders  and  an 
nex  territory,  and  we  carried  on  this  appropriation  of  land 
upon  a  scale  which,  during  the  same  period,  has  been  sur 
passed  by  England  alone.  Jefferson  made  the  Louisiana 
purchase  in  disregard  of  all  suggestions  of  constitutional 
objections,  thus  more  than  doubling  the  national  domain, 
and  carrying  our  possessions  to  regions  more  remote  and 
inaccessible  to  us  then  than  any  point  on  the  earth's  sur 
face  is  to-day.  Monroe  took  the  Floridas.  Then  came 
Texas,  then  the  great  accessions  of  the  Mexican  War,  and 
we  had  an  empire  in  our  hands  stretching  from  ocean  to 
ocean.  After  the  Civil  \Var  the  American  people  turned 
all  their  energy  to  subduing  and  occupying  the  vast  terri 
tory  which  they  had  bought  with  their  money  or  conquered 
by  their  sword.  It  was  an  enormous  task,  and  absorbed 
the  strength  and  enterprise  of  the  people  for  thirty  years. 
Finally  the  work  was  done,  the  frontiers  advancing  from 
the  East  and  the  West  disappeared  and  melted  together  ; 


574          THE    STORY    OF    THE    REVOLUTION 

even  Alaska,  the  only  large  acquisition  after  the  Civil  War, 
was  opened  to  settlement  and  to  the  in-rush  of  the  miner 
and  lumberman.  The  less  than  three  millions  of  the  Rev 
olution  had  grown  to  be  over  seventy  millions,  masters  of 
a  continent,  rich  beyond  all  the  early  dreams  of  wealth, 
with  unlimited  revenues,  and  still  untamed  in  hope  and 
energy.  They  had  built  up  an  industrial  system  which  had 
far  outrun  all  that  Hamilton  ever  dared  to  imagine,  and 
held  at  home  the  greatest  market  in  the  world.  Such  a  na 
tion  could  not  be  developed  in  this  way  and  yet  be  kept  fet 
tered  in  its  interests  and  activities  by  its  own  boundaries. 
Sooner  or  later  it  was  bound  to  return  to  the  ocean  which 
it  had  abandoned  temporarily  for  the  easier  opportunities 
of  its  own  land.  Sooner  or  later  it  was  sure  to  become  a 
world-power,  for  it  had  grown  too  powerful,  too  rich  ;  it 
had  too  many  interests,  it  desired  too  many  openings  for 
its  enterprise,  to  remain  shut  up  even  by  the  ocean  borders 
of  a  continent.  How  and  when  this  change  would  come 
no  man  could  tell.  Great  movements  which  have  long 
been  ripening  and  making  ready  always  start  suddenly  into 
active  life  at  the  last,  and  men  look  at  them  with  \vild  sur 
mise  and  think  they  are  new  when  they  are  in  reality  very 
old.  So  the  inevitable  has  happened,  and  the  Spanish 
war  has  awakened  the  people  of  the  United  States  to  the 
fact  that  they  have  risen  to  be  a  world-power,  henceforth  to 
be  reckoned  with  among  the  very  few  great  nations  of  the 
earth.  The  questions  of  the  acquisition  here  and  there  of 
territory  upon  which  markets  rest  or  defence  depends  are 
details.  The  great  fact  is  the  abandonment  of  isolation,  and 
this  can  neither  be  escaped  nor  denied.  There  is  no  incon 
sistency  here  with  the  past.  It  is  the  logical  result  of  our 
development  as  a  nation.  Our  foreign  policy  has  always 


MEANING   OF   THE   AMERICAN    REVOLUTION    575 

been  wise  and  simple.  Washington  laid  down  the  proposi 
tion  that  we  should  not  meddle  in  the  affairs  of  Europe, 
and,  with  France  in  his  mind,  warned  us  against  entangling 
alliances.  Monroe  added  the  corollary  that  Europe  should 
not  be  permitted  to  make  any  new  acquisitions  of  territory 
in  the  Americas.  To  both  doctrines  we  have  held  firmly, 
and  that  of  Monroe  we  have  extended  and  enforced,  and 
shall  always  enforce  it,  now  more  than  ever  before.  But 
neither  Washington  nor  Monroe  sought  to  limit  us  either 
in  our  own  hemisphere  or  in  parts  of  the  world  other  than 
Europe.  They  were  wise  men  with  wise  policies,  but  they 
could  not  read  our  unknown  future  nor  deal  with  problems 
far  beyond  their  ken.  They  marked  the  line  so  far  as  they 
could  foresee  the  course  then,  and  were  too  sagacious  to 
lay  down  rules  and  limitations  about  the  unknowable,  such 
as  the  doubting  and  timid  of  a  later  generation  would  fain 
attribute  to  them.  Isolation  in  the  United  States  has 
been  a  habit,  not  a  policy.  It  has  been  bred  by  circum 
stances  and  by  them  justified.  When  the  circumstances 
change,  the  habit  perforce  changes  too,  and  new  policies 
are  born  to  suit  new  conditions. 

The  American  people  have  made  mistakes,  as  all  peo 
ple  do  who  make  anything.  They  have  had  their  errors, 
failures,  and  shortcomings,  and  they  have  many  grave 
problems  to  solve,  many  evils  to  mitigate,  many  difficul 
ties  to  conquer.  But  after  all  deductions  are  made,  the 
American  democracy  has  achieved  a  marvellous  success, 
moral  and  intellectual,  as  well  as  material.  It  has  lifted 
up  humanity ;  it  has  raised  the  standard  of  life ;  it  has 
added  to  the  well-being,  freedom,  and  happiness  of  the 
average  man  ;  it  has  made  strongly  for  justice,  civilization, 
liberty,  and  peace.  It  has  proved  worthy  of  its  heritage. 


5;6  THE  STORY  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Now,  having  made  a  great  nation,  it  has  become  a  world- 
power,  because  it  is  too  great  and  powerful  to  be  aught 
else.  A  great  self-governing  nation  and  a  world-power  ; 
such  has  come  to  be  the  result  and  the  meaning  of  the 
Revolution  of  1776  to  Americans  and  to  mankind. 


APPENDIX 


I 

THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE 

In  Congress,  July  4,  1776 

A  DECLARATION  BY  THE  REPRESENTATIVES  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES 
OF  AMERICA,  IN  CONGRESS  ASSEMBLED 

WHEN,  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  necessary  for 
one  people  to  dissolve  the  political  bands  which  have  connected  them 
with  another,  and  to  assume,  among  the  powers  of  the  earth,  the 
separate  and  equal  station  to  which  the  laws  of  nature  and  of  nature's 
God  entitle  them,  a  decent  respect  to  the  opinions  of  mankind  re 
quires  that  they  should  declare  the  causes  which  impel  them  to  the 
separation. 

We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident — that  all  men  are  created 
equal ;  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator  with  certain  inalien 
able  rights  ;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness.  That,  to  secure  these  rights,  governments  are  instituted 
among  men,  deriving  their  just  powers  from  the  consent  of  the  gov 
erned  ;  that,  whenever  any  form  of  government  becomes  destructive 
of  these  erftls,  it  is  the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or  abolish  it,  and 
to  institute  a  new  government,  laying  its  foundations  on  such  prin 
ciples,  and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form,  as  to  them  shall  seem 
most  likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness.  Prudence,  indeed, 
will  dictate  that  governments  long  established  should  not  be  changed 
for  light  and  transient  causes  ;  and,  accordingly,  all  experience  hath 
shown  that  mankind  are  more  disposed  to  suffer,  while  evils  are  suf- 
ferable,  than  to  right  themselves  by  abolishing  the  forms  to  which 
they  are  accustomed.  But  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  usurpa 
tions,  pursuing  invariably  the  same  object,  evinces  a  design  to  reduce 
them  under  absolute  despotism,  it  is  their  right,  it  is  their  duty, 
to  throw  off  such  government,  and  to  provide  new  guards  for  their 

579 


58o  APPENDIX 

future  security.  Such  has  been  the  patient  sufferance  of  these  colo 
nies,  and  such  is  now  the  necessity  which  constrains  them  to  alter 
their  former  systems  of  government.  The  history  of  the  present 
king  of  Great  Britain  is  a  history  of  repeated  injuries  and  usurpa 
tions,  all  having  in  direct  object  the  establishment  of  an  absolute 
tyranny  over  these  States.  To  prove  this,  let  facts  be  submitted  to 
a  candid  world. 

1.  He  has  refused  his  assent  to  laws  the  most  wholesome  and 
necessary  for  the  public  good. 

2.  He  has  forbidden  his  governors  to  pass  laws  of  immediate  and 
pressing  importance,  unless  suspended   in   their  operations   till   his 
assent  should  be  obtained  ;  and,  when  so  suspended,  he  has  utterly 
neglected  to  attend  to  them. 

3.  He  has  refused  to  pass  other  laws  for  the  accommodation  of 
large  districts  of  people,  unless  those  people   would   relinquish   the 
right  of  representation   in  the   Legislature — a  right  inestimable  to 
them,  and  formidable  to  tyrants  only. 

4.  He  has  called    together  legislative  bodies  at  places  unusual, 
uncomfortable,  and  distant  from  the  repository  of  their  public  rec 
ords,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  fatiguing  them  into  compliance  with  his 
measures. 

5.  He  has  dissolved  representative  houses  repeatedly,  for  oppos 
ing,  with  manly  firmness,  his  invasions  on  the  rights  of  the  people. 

6.  He  has  refused,  for  a  long  time  after  such  dissolutions,  to  cause 
others  to   be  elected,  whereby  the  legislative  powers,  incapable  of 
annihilation,  have  returned  to  the  people  at  large  for  their  exercise  ; 
the  State  remaining,  in  the  meantime,  exposed  to  all  the  dangers  of 
invasions  from  without,  and  convulsions  within. 

7.  He  has  endeavored  to  prevent  the  population  of  these  States  ; 
for  that  purpose  obstructing  the  laws  for  the  naturalization  of  for 
eigners  ;  refusing  to  pass  others  to  encourage  their  migration  hither, 
and  raising  the  conditions  of  new  appropriations  of  lands. 

8.  He  has  obstructed  the  administration  of  justice,  by  refusing 
his  assent  to  laws  for  establishing  judiciary  powers. 

9.  He  has  made  judges  dependent  of  his  will  alone  for  the  tenure 
on  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment  of  their  salaries. 

10.  He  has  erected  a   multitude  of  new  offices,  and  sent  hither 
swarms   of  officers,   to   harass  our    people    and    eat  out    their    sub 
stance. 

11.  He  has  kept  among  us  in  times  of  peace,  standing  armies, 
without  the  consent  of  our  Legislatures. 


APPENDIX  581 

12.  He  has  affected  to  render  the  military  independent  of,  and 
superior  to,  the  civil  power. 

13.  He  has  combined  with  others  to  subject  us  to  a  jurisdiction 
foreign  to  our  constitutions,  and  unacknowledged  by  our  laws  ;  giv 
ing  his  assent  to  their  acts  of  pretended  legislation  ; 

14.  For  quartering  large  bodies  of  armed  troops  among  us  ; 

15.  For  protecting  them,  by  a  mock   trial,  from  punishment  for 
any  murders  which  they  should  commit  on  the  inhabitants  of  these 
States  ; 

16.  For  cutting  off  our  trade  with  all  parts  of  the  world  ; 

17.  For  imposing  taxes  on  us  without  our  consent  ; 

1 8.  For  depriving  us,  in  many  cases,  of  the  benefits  of  a  trial  by 
jury  ; 

19.  For  transporting   us   beyond  seas,  to  be  tried  for  pretended 
offences  ; 

20.  For  abolishing  the  free  system  of  English  laws  in  a  neighbor 
ing  province,  establishing  therein  an  arbitrary  government,  and  en 
larging  its  boundaries,  so  as  to  render  it  at  once  an  example  and  fit 
instrument  for  introducing  the  same  absolute  rule  into  these  colonies  ; 

21.  For  taking  away  our  charters,  abolishing  our  most  valuable 
laws,  and  altering,  fundamentally,  the  forms  of  our  governments  ; 

22.  For  suspending  our  own   Legislatures,  and  declaring  them 
selves  invested  with  power  to  legislate  for  us  in  all  cases  whatsoever. 

23.  He  has  abdicated  government  here,  by  declaring  us  out  of  his 
protection,  and  waging  war  against  us. 

24.  He  has  plundered  our  seas,  ravaged  our  coasts,  burned  our 
towns,  and  destroyed  the  lives  of  our  people. 

25.  He  is  at  this  time  transporting  large  armies  of  foreign  mer 
cenaries  to   complete  the  works  of  death,  desolation  and   tyranny, 
already  begun  with   circumstances   of  cruelty  and   perfidy  scarcely 
paralleled  in  the  most  barbarous  ages,  and  totally  unworthy  the  head 
of  a  civilized  nation. 

26.  He  has  constrained  our  fellow-citizens,  taken  captive  on  the 
high  seas,  to  bear  arms  against  their  country,  to  become  the  execu 
tioners  of  their  friends  and  brethren,  or  to  fall  themselves  by  their 
hands. 

27.  He  has  excited  domestic  insurrection  among  us,  and  has  en 
deavored  to  bring  on  the  inhabitants  of  our  frontiers  the  merciless 
Indian  savages,  whose  known  rule  of  warfare  is  an  undistinguished 
destruction  of  all  ages,  sexes,  and  conditions. 

In  every  stage  of  these  oppressions  we  have  petitioned  for  re- 


582  APPENDIX 

dress  in  the  most  humble  terms  ;  our  repeated  petitions  have  been 
answered  only  by  repeated  injury.  A  prince  whose  character  is  thus 
marked  by  every  act  which  may  define  a  tyrant,  is  unfit  to  be  the 
ruler  of  a  free  people. 

Nor  have  we  been  wanting  in  our  attentions  to  our  British  breth 
ren.  We  have  warned  them,  from  time  to  time,  of  attempts  by  their 
legislature  to  extend  an  unwarrantable  jurisdiction  over  us.  We 
have  reminded  them  of  the  circumstances  of  our  emigration  and  set 
tlement  here.  We  have  appealed  to  their  native  justice  and  magna 
nimity,  and  we  have  conjured  them  by  the  ties  of  our  common  kin 
dred  to  disavow  these  usurpations,  which  would  inevitably  interrupt 
our  connections  and  correspondence.  They,  too,  have  been  deaf  to 
the  voice  of  justice  and  of  consanguinity.  We  must,  therefore,  acqui 
esce  in  the  necessity  which  denounces  our  separation,  and  hold  them 
as  we  hold  the  rest  of  mankind — enemies  in  war  ;  in  peace,  friends. 

We,  therefore,  the  representatives  of  the  United  States  of  Amer 
ica  in  general  Congfess  assembled,  appealing  to  the  Supreme  Judge 
of  the  world  for  the  rectitude  of  our  intentions,  do,  in  the  name  and 
by  the  authority  of  the  good  people  of  these  colonies,  solemnly  pub 
lish  and  declare  that  these  united  colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought  to 
be,  free  and  independent  States ;  that  they  are  absolved  from  all 
allegiance  to  the  British  crown,  and  that  all  political  connection  be 
tween  them  and  the  state  of  Great  Britain  is,  and  ought  to  be,  totally 
dissolved,  and  that,  as  free  and  independent  States,  they  have  full 
power  to  levy  war,  conclude  peace,  contract  alliances,  establish  com 
merce,  and  do  all  other  acts  and  things  which  independent  States  may 
of  right  do.  And  for  the  support  of  this  Declaration,  with  a  firm 
reliance  on  the  protection  of  Divine  Providence,  we  mutually  pledge 
to  each  other  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honor. 


II 

THE   PARIS   TREATY 

DEFINITIVE  TREATY  OF  PEACE  BETWEEN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF 
AMERICA  AND  His  BRITANNIC  MAJESTY.  CONCLUDED  AT 
PARIS,  SEPTEMBER  3,  1783 

IN  the  name  of  the  Most  Holy  and  Undivided  Trinity. 

It  having  pleased  the  Divine  Providence  to  dispose  the  hearts  of 
the  most  serene  and  most  potent  Prince,  George  the  Third,  by  the 
Grace  of  God  King  of  Great  Britain,  France,  and  Ireland,  Defender 
of  the  Faith,  Duke  of  Brunswick  and  Luneburg,  Arch-Treasurer  and 
Prince  Elector  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  &ca.,  and  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  to  forget  all  past  misunderstandings  and  differ 
ences  that  have  unhappily  interrupted  the  good  correspondence  and 
friendship  which  they  mutually  wish  to  restore  ;  and  to  establish  such 
a  beneficial  and  satisfactory  intercourse  between  the  two  countries, 
upon  the  ground  of  reciprocal  advantages  and  mutual  conven 
ience,  as  may  promote  and  secure  to  both  perpetual  peace  and  har 
mony  :  And  having  for  this  desirable  end  already  laid  the  founda 
tion  of  peace  and  reconciliation,  by  the  provisional  articles,  signed  at 
Paris,  on  the  3oth  of  Nov'r,  1782,  by  the  commissioners  empowered 
on  each  part,  which  articles  were  agreed  to  be  inserted  in  and  to 
constitute  the  treaty  of  peace  proposed  to  be  concluded  between  the 
Crown  of  Great  Britain  and  the  said  United  States,  but  which  treaty 
was  not  to  be  concluded  until  terms  of  peace  should  be  agreed  upon 
between  Great  Britain  and  France,  and  His  Britannic  Majesty  should 
be  ready  to  conclude  such  treaty  accordingly ;  and  the  treaty  between 
Great  Britain  and  France  having  since  been  concluded,  His  Britannic 
Majesty  and  the  United  States  of  America,  in  order  to  carry  into 
full  effect  the  provisional  articles  above  mentioned,  according  to  the 
tenor  thereof,  have  constituted  and  appointed,  that  is  to  say,  His 

583 


584  APPENDIX 

Britannic  Majesty  on  his  part,  David  Hartley,  esqr.,  member  of  the 
Parliament  of  Great  Britain  ;  and  the  said  United  States  on  their 
part,  John  Adams,  esqr.,  late  a  commissioner  of  the  United  States  of 
America  at  the  Court  of  Versailles,  late  Delegate  in  Congress  from 
the  State  of  Massachusetts,  and  chief  justice  of  the  said  State,  and 
Minister  Plenipotentiary  of  the  said  United  States  to  their  High 
Mightinesses  the  States  General  of  the  United  Netherlands  ;  Ben 
jamin  Franklin,  esq're,  late  Delegate  in  Congress  from  the  State  of 
Pennsylvania,  president  of  the  convention  of  the  said  State,  and 
Minister  Plenipotentiary  from  the  United  States  of  America  at  the 
Court  of  Versailles  ;  John  Jay,  esq're,  late  president  of  Congress, 
and  chief  justice  of  the  State  of  New  York,  and  Minister  Plenipoten 
tiary  from  the  said  United  States  at  the  Court  of  Madrid,  to  be  the 
Plenipotentiaries  for  the  concluding  and  signing  the  present  defini 
tive  treaty  ;  who,  after  having  reciprocally  communicated  their  re 
spective  full  powers,  have  agreed  upon  and  confirmed  the  following 
articles  : 

ARTICLE  I. 

His  Britannic  Majesty  acknowledges  the  said  United  States,  viz. 
New  Hampshire,  Massachusetts  Bay,  Rhode  Island,  and  Providence 
Plantations,  Connecticut,  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania, 
Delaware,  Maryland,  Virginia,  North  Carolina,  South  Carolina,  and 
Georgia,  to  be  free,  sovereign  and  independent  States  ;  that  he 
treats  with  them  as  such,  and  for  himself,  his  heirs  and  successors, 
relinquishes  all  claims  to  the  Government,  proprietary  and  territorial 
rights  of  the  same,  and  every  part  thereof. 


ARTICLE    II. 

And  that  all  disputes  which  might  arise  in  future,  on  the  subject 
of  the  boundaries  of  the  said  United  States  may  be  prevented,  it  is 
hereby  agreed  and  declared,  that  the  following  are,  and  shall  be 
their  boundaries,  viz.  :  From  the  northwest  angle  of  Nova  Scotia, 
viz.  that  angle  which  is  formed  by  a  line  drawn  due  north  from  the 
source  of  Saint  Croix  River  to  the  Highlands  ;  along  the  said  High 
lands  which  divide  those  rivers  that  empty  themselves  into  the  river 
St.  Lawrence,  from  those  which  fall  into  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  to  the 
northwestern-most  head  of  Connecticut  River  ;  thence  down  along 
the  middle  of  that  river,  to  the  forty-fifth  degree  of  north  latitude  ; 


APPENDIX  585 

from  thence,  by  a  line  due  west  on  said  latitude,  until  it  strikes  the 
river  Iroquois  or  Cataraquy  ;  thence  along  the  middle  of  said  river 
into  Lake  Ontario,  through  the  middle  of  said  lake  until  it  strikes 
the  communication  by  water  between  that  lake  and  Lake  Erie  ; 
thence  along  the  middle  of  said  communication  into  Lake  Erie, 
through  the  middle  of  said  lake  until  it  arrives  at  the  water  com 
munication  between  that  lake  and  Lake  Huron  ;  thence  along  the 
middle  of  said  water  communication  into  the  Lake  Huron  ;  thence 
through  the  middle  of  said  lake  to  the  water  communication  between 
that  lake  and  Lake  Superior  ;  thence  through  Lake  Superior  north 
ward  of  the  Isles  Royal  and  Phelipeaux,  to  the  Long  Lake  ;  thence 
through  the  middle  of  said  Long  Lake,  and  the  water  communication 
between  it  and  the  Lake  of  the  Woods,  to  the  said  Lake  of  the 
Woods ;  thence  through  the  said  lake  to  the  most  northwestern 
point  thereof,  and  from  thence  on  a  due  west  course  to  the  river 
Mississippi  ;  thence  by  a  line  to  be  drawn  along  the  middle  of  the 
said  river  Mississippi  until  it  shall  intersect  the  northernmost  part  of 
the  thirty-first  degree  of  north  latitude.  South,  by  a  line  to  be 
drawn  due  east  from  the  determination  of  the  line  last  mentioned,  in 
the  latitude  of  thirty-one  degrees  north  of  the  Equator,  to  the  mid 
dle  of  the  river  Apalachicola  or  Catahouche  ;  thence  along  the  mid 
dle  thereof  to  its  junction  with  the  Flint  River  ;  thence  straight  to 
the  head  of  St.  Mary's  River  ;  and  thence  down  along  the  middle  of 
St.  Mary's  River  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  East,  by  a  line  to  be  drawn 
along  the  middle  of  the  river  St.  Croix,  from  its  mouth  in  the  Bay  of 
Fundy  to  its  source,  and  from  its  source  directly  north  to  the  afore 
said  Highlands,  which  divide  the  rivers  that  fall  into  the  Atlantic 
Ocean  from  those  which  fall  into  the  river  St.  Lawrence  ;  compre 
hending  all  islands  within  twenty  leagues  of  any  part  of  the  shores 
of  the  United  States,  and  lying  between  lines  to  be  drawn  due  east 
from  the  points  where  the  aforesaid  boundaries  between  Nova  Scotia 
on  the  one  part,  and  East  Florida  on  the  other,  shall  respectively 
touch  the  Bay  of  Fundy  and  the  Atlantic  Ocean  ;  excepting  such 
islands  as  now  are,  or  heretofore  have  been,  within  the  limits  of  the 
said  province  of  Nova  Scotia. 

ARTICLE   III. 

It  is  agreed  that  the  people  of  the  United  States  sjiall  continue  to 
enjoy  unmolested  the  right  to  take  fish  of  every  kind  on  the  Grand 
Bank,  and  on  all  the  other  banks  of  Newfoundland  ;  also  in  the 


586  APPENDIX 

Gulph  of  Saint  Lawrence,  and  at  all  other  places  in  the  sea  where 
the  inhabitants  of  both  countries  used  at  any  time  heretofore  to  fish. 
And  also  that  the  inhabitants  of  the  United  States  shall  have  liberty 
to  take  fish  of  every  kind  on  such  part  of  the  coast  of  Newfoundland 
as  British  fishermen  shall  use  (but  not  to  dry  or  cure  the  same  on 
that  island)  and  also  on  the  coasts,  bays,  and  creeks  of  all  other  of 
His  Britannic  Majesty's  dominions  in  America  ;  and  that  the  Amer 
ican  fishermen  shall  have  liberty  to  dry  and  cure  fish  in  any  of  the 
unsettled  bays,  harbours,  and  creeks  of  Nova  Scotia,  Magdalen 
Islands,  and  Labrador,  so  long  as  the  same  shall  remain  unsettled  ; 
but  so  soon  as  the  same  or  either  of  them  shall  be  settled,  it  shall 
not  be  lawful  for  the  said  fishermen  to  dry  or  cure  fish  at  such  settle 
ment,  without  a  previous  agreement  for  that  purpose  with  the  inhab 
itants,  proprietors,  or  possessors  of  the  ground. 


ARTICLE    IV. 

It  is  agreed  that  creditors  on  either  side  shall  meet  with  no  law 
ful  impediment  to  the  recovery  of  the  full  value  in  sterling  money,  of 
all  bona  fide  debts  heretofore  contracted. 


ARTICLE    V. 

It  is  agreed  that  the  Congress  shall  earnestly  recommend  it  to 
the  legislatures  of  the  respective  States,  to  provide  for  the  restitu 
tion  of  all  estates,  rights,  and  properties  which  have  been  confiscated, 
belonging  to  real  British  subjects,  and  also  of  the  estates,  rights,  and 
properties  of  persons  resident  in  districts  in  the  possession  of  His 
Majesty's  arms,  and  who  have  not  borne  arms  against  the  said 
United  States.  And  that  persons  of  any  other  description  shall 
have  free  liberty  to  go  to  any  part  or  parts  of  any  of  the  thirteen 
United  States,  and  therein  to  remain  twelve  months,  unmolested  in 
their  endeavours  to  obtain  the  restitution  of  such  of  their  estates, 
rights,  and  properties  as  may  have  been  confiscated  ;  and  that  Con 
gress  shall  also  earnestly  recommend  to  the  several  States  a  recon 
sideration  and  revision  of  all  acts  or  laws  regarding  the  premises,  so 
as  to  render  the  said  laws  or  acts  perfectly  consistent,  not  only  with 
justice  and  equity,  but  with  that  spirit  of  conciliation  which,  on  the 
return  of  the  blessings  of  peace,  should  universally  prevail.  And 
that  Congress  shall  also  earnestly  recommend  to  the  several  States, 


APPENDIX  587 

that  the  estates,  rights,  and  properties  of  such  last  mentioned  per 
sons,  shall  be  restored  to  them,  they  refunding  to  any  persons  who 
may  now  be  in  possession,  the  bona  fide  price  (where  any  has  been 
given)  which  such  persons  may  have  paid  on  purchasing  any  of  the 
said  lands,  rights,  or  properties,  since  the  confiscation.  And  it  is 
agreed,  that  all  persons  who  have  any  interest  in  confiscated  lands, 
either  by  debts,  marriage  settlements,  or  otherwise,  shall  meet  with 
no  lawful  impediment  in  the  prosecution  of  their  just  rights. 


ARTICLE    VI. 

That  there  shall  be  no  future  confiscations  made,  nor  any  prose 
cutions  commenc'd  against  any  person  or  persons  for,  or  by  reason 
of  the  part  which  he  or  they  may  have  taken  in  the  present  war ; 
and  that  no  person  shall,  on  that  account,  suffer  any  future  loss  or 
damage,  either  in  his  person,  liberty,  or  property  ;  and  that  those 
who  may  be  in  confinement  on  such  charges,  at  the  time  of  the  rati 
fication  of  the  treaty  in  America,  shall  be  immediately  set  at  liberty, 
and  the  prosecutions  so  commenced  be  discontinued. 


ARTICLE   VII. 

There  shall  be  a  firm  and  perpetual  peace  between  His  Britannic 
Majesty  and  the  said  States,  and  between  the  subjects  of  the  one 
and  the  citizens  of  the  other,  wherefore  all  hostilities,  both  by  sea 
and  land,  shall  from  henceforth  cease  :  All  prisoners  on  both  sides 
shall  be  set  at  liberty,  and  His  Britannic  Majesty  shall,  with  all  con 
venient  speed,  and  without  causing  any  destruction,  or  carrying 
away  any  negroes  or  other  property  of  the  American  inhabitants, 
withdraw  all  his  armies,  garrisons,  and  fleets  from  the  said  United 
States,  and  from  every  port,  place,  and  harbour  within  the  same  ; 
leaving  in  all  fortifications  the  American  artillery  that  may  be 
therein  :  And  shall  also  order  and  cause  all  archives,  records,  deeds, 
and  papers,  belonging  to  any  of  the  said  States,  or  their  citizens, 
which,  in  the  course  of  the  war,  may  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
the  officers,  to  be  forthwith  restored  and  deliver'd  to  the  proper 
States  and  persons  to  whom  they  belong. 


588  APPENDIX 


ARTICLE    VIII. 

The  navigation  of  the  river  Mississippi,  from  its  source  to  the 
ocean,  shall  for  ever  remain  free  and  open  to  the  subjects  of  Great 
Britain,  and  the  citizens  of  the  United  States. 


ARTICLE    IX. 

In  case  it  should  so  happen  that  any  place  or  territory  belonging 
to  Great  Britain  or  to  the  United  States,  should  have  been  conquer'd 
by  the  arms  of  either  from  the  other,  before  the  arrival  of  the  said 
provisional  articles  in  America,  it  is  agreed,  that  the  same  shall  be 
restored  without  difficulty,  and  without  requiring  any  compensation. 


ARTICLE    X. 

The  solemn  ratifications  of  the  present  treaty,  expedited  in  good 
and  due  form,  shall  be  exchanged  between  the  contracting  parties,  in 
the  space  of  six  months,  or  sooner  if  possible,  to  be  computed  from 
the  day  of  the  signature  of  the  present  treaty.  In  witness  whereof, 
we  the  undersigned,  their  Ministers  Plenipotentiary,  have  in  their 
name  and  in  virtue  of  our  full  powers,  signed  with  our  hands  the 
present  definitive  treaty,  and  caused  the  seals  of  our  arms  to  be 
affix'd  thereto. 

Done  at  Paris,  this  third  day  of  September,  in  the  year  of  our 
Lord  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty-three. 

D.  HARTLEY.  (L.  s.) 

JOHN  ADAMS.  (L.  s.) 

B.  FRANKLIN.  (L.  s.) 

JOHN  JAY.  (L.  s.) 


Ill 


GENERAL  WASHINGTON'S   ADDRESS   TO   CONGRESS  ON 
RESIGNING  HIS  COMMISSION 

ANNAPOLIS,  23  December,  1783. 
Mr.  President, 

The  great  events,  on  which  my  resignation  depended,  having  at 
length  taken  place,  I  have  now  the  honor  of  offering  my  sincere 
congratulations  to  Congress,  and  of  presenting  myself  before  them, 
to  surrender  into  their  hands  the  trust  committed  to  me,  and  to 
claim  the  indulgence  of  retiring  from  the  service  of  my  country. 

Happy  in  the  confirmation  of  our  independence  and  sovereignty, 
and  pleased  with  the  opportunity  afforded  the  United  States  of  be 
coming  a  respectable  nation,  I  resign  with  satisfaction  the  appoint 
ment  I  accepted  with  diffidence  ;  a  diffidence  in  my  abilities  to 
accomplish  so  arduous  a  task,  which,  however,  was  superseded  by  a 
confidence  in  the  rectitude  of  our  cause,  the  support  of  the  supreme 
power  of  the  Union,  and  the  patronage  of  Heaven. 

The  successful  termination  of  the  war  has  verified  the  most  san 
guine  expectations  ;  and  my  gratitude  for  the  interposition  of  Provi 
dence,  and  the  assistance  I  have  received  from  my  countrymen, 
increases  with  every  review  of  the  momentous  contest. 

While  I  repeat  my  obligations  to  the  army  in  general,  I  should  do 
injustice  to  my  own  feelings  not  to  acknowledge,  in  this  place,  the 
peculiar  services  and  distinguished  merits  of  the  gentlemen,  who 
have  been  attached  to  my  person  during  the  war.  It  was  impossible 
that  the  choice  of  confidential  officers  to  compose  my  family  should 
have  been  more  fortunate.  Permit  me,  Sir,  to  recommend  in  partic 
ular  those,  who  have  continued  in  service  to  the  present  moment,  as 
worthy  of  the  favorable  notice  and  patronage  of  Congress. 

I  consider  it  an  indispensable  duty  to  close  this  last  solemn  act  of 
my  official  life,  by  commending  the  interests  of  our  dearest  country 

58q 


590  APPENDIX 

to  the  protection  of  Almighty  God,  and  those  who  have  the  superin. 
tendence  of  them  to  his  holy  keeping. 

Having  now  finished  the  work  assigned  me,  I  retire  from  the 
great  theatre  of  action  ;  and,  bidding  an  affectionate  farewell  to 
this  august  body,  under  whose  orders  I  have  so  long  acted,  I  here 
offer  my  commission,  and  take  my  leave  of  all  the  employments  of 
public  life. 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ABERCROMBIE,   COLONEL,    520 

Acland,    256 

"Actaeon,"    the,    130 

Adams,    Mr.    Henry,   quoted,   540,    541 

Adams,  John,  12,  65,  140,  144,  160,  167, 
306,  541;  entry  in  the  diary  of,  2;  a 
delegate  at  the  first  American  Congress, 
7;  at  the  second  Congress,  54-57;  pro 
posed  that  George  Washington  be  placed 
in  command  of.  the  Continental  Army, 
67;  wished  Congress  to  found  a  govern 
ment,  142;  his  influence  on  public  senti 
ment,  152;  his  activity  in  Congress,  156; 
on  a  committee  to  draft  a  declaration  of 
independence,  157;  showed  himself  a 
"Colossus  of  Debate,"  158;  his  criticism 
of  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
172;  sent  by  Congress  to  France,  272; 
complained  of  Washington's  failures, 
301;  on  a  peace  commission,  532;  arrival 
of,  at  Paris,  536;  value  of  the  diplo 
matic  services  of,  539,  540 

Adams,  Samuel,  59,  65,  66,  306;  a  dele 
gate  at  the  first  American  Congress,  7-9; 
known  in  England  as  a  "very  valiant 
rebel,"  12;  refuge  of,  in  Lexington,  30; 
roused  by  Paul  Revere,  32;  persuaded 
by  Revere  to  go  to  Woburn  with  Han 
cock,  34;  at  the  second  American  Con 
gress,  54,  57;  his  radicalism,  151 

Aitken's    Tavern,    284 

Alaska,    574 

Albany,    231,    279,    475 

Albert,    Prince,    567 

Alleghanies,    the,    331,    337 

Allen,  Ethan,  113,  474;  the  capture  of 
Fort  Ticonderoga  by,  62-64 

Amboy,    281 

Andre,  Major,  communications  of  Arnold 
with,  477,  478;  interview  of,  with  Ar 
nold,  479;  accepted  papers  from  Arnold, 
480;  the  capture  of,  481  et  seq. ;  the  fate 
of,  489,  490 

Annapolis,    499,    550 

Anne,    Fort,     233 

Arbuthnot,   Admiral,   362,   363,  364,  500 

Armand,    Colonel,    376 

Armstrong,    General,    126   et    seq. 

Armstrong,  John,  injustice  to  the  Conti 
nental  Army  deplored  by,  545 

Arnold,  Benedict,  201,  261;  414,  481,  482, 
490,  491,  493,  500;  march  of,  to  Quebec, 
1 06;  the  attack  on  Quebec,  108;  at  Val- 
cour,  228;  joined  Schuyler,  234;  rumor 
of  his  advance  to  relieve  Gansevoort, 
241;  rejoined  Schuyler,  242;  at  Bemis's 
Heights,  250,  251;  relieved  of  his  com 


mand  by  Gates,  255;  showed  his  cour 
age,  256;  account  of,  473  et  seq.;  his 
traitorous  negotiations  with  the  British, 
477  et  seq.;  Jamieson's  letter  despatched 
to,  483;  the  flight  of,  484-487;  Washing 
ton's  great  disappointment  in,  488;  ser 
vices  of,  to  England,  489;  expedition  of, 
into  Virginia,  498,  499;  sent  back  to 
New  York,  502 

Arnold,  Mrs.  Benedict,  477,  484;  the  fail 
ure  of  her  husband's  plot  revealed  to 
her,  484 

Articles    of    Confederation,    the,    328 

Ashe,    356 

Assanpmk,    217 

Augusta,  Fla.,  364;  taken  by  Campbell, 
355>  356;  besieged  by  Lee  and  1'ickens, 
432;  the  surrender  of,  433 

Austria,    271,    554,    555 

Auvergne,    the    regiment    of,    at    Yorktown, 


"BACKWATER    MEN,"    the,    385    et    seq. 

Baltimore,  501;  adjournment  of  Congress 
to,  207;  a  Hessian  flag  presented  to,  212 

Barren    Hill,    316 

Batten   Kill,   the,   256 

Baum,  Colonel,  sent  out  by  Burgoyne  on 
a  marauding  expedition,  242;  at  the 
battle  of  Bennington,  243  et  seq.;  mor 
tally  wounded,  244 

Beaufort,    355,    357 

Beaumarchais,  attitude  of,  toward  Amer 
ica,  267;  authorized  to  supply  merchan 
dise  to  America,  268 

Bedford    County,    505 

Bell's   Mills,   419 

Remis's   Heights,    249,    250 

Bennington,  60,  249,  258,  261;  the  battle 
of,  243-247;  the  victory  of,  248 

"Black    Snake,"    457 

Blanca,    Florida,    330 

Blandford,    502 

Board    of    War,    the,    310,    311 

Boone,    Daniel,    334,     381 

Boston,  53,  54,  65,  67,  68,  70,  71,  73,  77,  78, 
79,  81,  98,  103,  109,  118,  135,  137,  143, 
145,  150,  154,  156,  180,  184,  225,  324, 
326,  353,  400,  514,  522,  550;  riots  in, 
26;  the  march  of  Lieut.  -Colonel  Smith 
from,  34;  an  attack  on,  proposed  by 
Washington,  no;  the  victory  over  the 
British  in,  113,  114 

Boston  Neck,  41,  no;  fortified  by  Gage, 
29 

Bowman,  warned  the  minute  men  at  Lex 
ington,  35 


593 


594 


INDEX 


Brad  dock,  General,   12,  279 

Brandywine,  the,  290,  299,  300,  323,  460; 
the  battle  of,  284  et  seq. 

Bratton,    Colonel,    371,    372 

Hrattonsville,    371 

Breed's  Hill,  84,  90,  95,  98;  fortified  by 
the  Americans,  74 

Urest,    472 

Breymann,  Colonel,  242;  came  to  Baum's 
relief  at  Bennington,  247;  killed  in 
battle,  258 

Bright,    John,    567 

Bristol,    208 

"Bristol,"    the,    129,    130 

Broad   River,   401,   406 

Bronx,   the,    198 

Brooklyn  Heights,  189,  190,  191;  fortified, 
184 

Brown,  Colonel,  attack  of,  on  Ticonderoga, 
250 

Brunswick,    221,     222,    281 

Brunswickers,    242,    247,    256 

Bunker  Hill,  97,  115,  116,  130,  138,  145, 
146,  180,  242,  248,  266,  460,  522,  530; 
the  order  to  occupy  and  fortify  issued, 
74;  the  battle  of,  81  et  seq.;  seizure  of, 
by  the  British,  90;  the  significance  of 
the  battle  of,  90  et  seq. ;  the  losses  at, 
92,  93;  news  of,  brought  to  Washington, 
98 

Burdell's   plantation,   439 

Burgoyne,  Sir  John,  71/270,  272,  278,  279, 
280,  291,  299,  300,  301,  302,  306,  331,  353, 
373,  374,  399,  400,  449,  475;  character 
of,  229,  230;  delayed  by  Schuyler,  234- 
236;  decision  of,  to  raid  the  country, 
242;  the  blow  dealt  him  at  Bennington, 
248,  249;  at  the  battle  of  Freeman's 
Farm,  250,  251;  determined  to  stand  his 
ground,  255;  a  disastrous  battle,  256; 
his  conditional  surrender,  258;  the  fail 
ure  of  his  expedition,  261,  262;  signifi 
cance  of  the  surrender  of,  264  et  seq.; 
news  of,  received  in  England,  269;  con 
junction  of,  with  Howe,  feared  by 
Washington,  281,  282 

Burke,    Edmund,    15,    16,    93,    567 

Burr,    107 

Butler,    Colonel,    459,    504 

Buttrick,    Major,   at  Concord,  45 

CABINET,  the  British,  the  two  factions  in, 
530,  53i 

Cadwalader,  General,  at  Trenton,  208; 
duel  of  Con  way  with,  311 

Cahokia,    344,    345 

Cambridge,  32,  42,  98,  141,  474;  the  out 
break  at,  28,  29;  excitement  in  the 
camp  at,  80;  the  condition  of  the  Amer 
ican  army  at,  87;  the  arrival  of  Wash 
ington  at,  100 

Camden,  93,  146,  392,  393,  396,  401,  408, 
417,  427,  428,  431,  432,  567;  the  ad 
vance  of  Gates  on,  375;  the  engagement 
at,  376-378;  reasons  for  the  defeat,  379 

Campbell,  Lord  William,  Colonel,  123, 
124;  urged  attacking  Charleston,  126; 
Savannah  captured  by,  354;  the  severity 
of,  355;  Augusta  taken  by,  355 

Campbell,  William,  382,  420,  427;  took 
command  of  an  expedition,  383  et  seq. 

Canada,  142,  143,  144,  225,  228,  229,  241,  249, 
266,  270;  expeditions  to,  166  et  seq.;  de 
feat  of  the  attempts  to  get  possession  of, 
109;  enlistment  of  Canadians  on  the  side 
of  the  British,  230;  failure  of  the  plan 
tor  the  invasion  of,  311;  Arnold's  expe 


dition  to,  474;  the  cession  of,  suggested 
by  Franklin  to  Great  Britain,  533 

Cane   Creek,    383 

Canning,    George,    563 

Cape    Fear    River,    126 

Carleton,  185,  230,  232,  248,  475;  the  vic 
tory  of,  1 08;  retreat  of,  from  Crown 
Point,  201;  advance  of,  down  the  Hud 
son,  228;  superseded  by  Burgoyne,  229; 
successor  to  Clinton,  530 

Carlisle,    Lord,    316 

Carolinas,  the,  374,  380,  381,  393,  432, 
505;  loyalists  in,  123;  civil  war  in,  354 

Carpenters,    the    Hall   of  the,   4 

Castine,   467 

Caswell,    123,    155,   375,    377 

Catawba    River,    the,    372,    383,    401,    411 

Catherine,   Queen   of   Russia,    181 

Chad's   Ford,    284,    287,    288 

Champlain,  Lake,  475;  Burgoyne's  expedi 
tion  on,  232 

Charles   I.,    14,    16,    172 

Charles    II.,    26 

Charleston,  135,  158,  159,  180,  225,  282, 
356,  361,  367,  369,  372,  373,  383,  408, 
4^6,  431,  434,  435,  436,  439,  470;  the  arrival 
of  the  British  at,  126;  the  fortification 
of,  128;  attacked  by  Parker,  134;  move 
ment  of  Clinton  on,  362;  evacuated, 
442 

Charlestown,  fortified  by  the  American 
troops,  73  et  seq.;  set  fire  to  by  the 
British,  83 

Charlestown  Neck,  32,  73;  advance  of  the 
British  upon,  78  et  seq. 

Charlotte,  375,  377,  379,  385,  392,  395, 
396,  445 

Chatham,  Lord,  93,  146,  567;  words  of, 
with  regard  to  the  papers  transmitted 
by  the  American  Congress,  20,  21.  See 
Pitt,  William 

Chatterton's    Hill,    198 

Cherry    Valley,    327 

Chesapeake,  the,  126,  282,  500,  508,  509, 
512,  513,  514 

Chester,    288,    289 

Chew    house,   the,    291,    295 

Choate,    Rufus,    176 

Church  of  England,  the,  opposition  in 
Massachusetts  to  the  establishment  of, 
26;  loyalist  clergymen  of,  152 

Civil   War,   the,    567,    573,    574 

Clark,    his   criticism    of    Washington,    306 

Clark,  General  George  Rogers,  353,  381; 
the  plan  of,  for  carrying  war  into  Illi 
nois,  337;  received  Henry's  encourage 
ment,  338;  the  attack  of,  on  Kaskaskia, 
339-343;  won  Kaskaskia  over  to  the 
American  cause,  344;  implored  by  the 
French  not  to  go  away,  345;  news  of 
Hamilton's  approach  brought  to,  346; 
the  attack  of,  on  Hamilton  at  Vin- 
cennes,  347,  351;  significance  oi  liis  vic 
tory,  352 

Clarke,    380 

Clarke,    Sir   Francis,    258 

Cleaveland,    Colonel,    383,    386 

Clermont,    375 

Cleveland,    Mr.,    566 

Clinton,  George,  at  the  second  Congress, 
58 

Clinton,  Sir  Henry,  71,  116,  279,  326,  327, 
369,  399,  460,  468,  477,  479,  484,  49O, 
493,  497,  499,  5OO,  501,  505,  508,  509; 
advice  of,  to  Howe,  90;  in  command  of 
the  British  campaign  in  the  South,  125 
et  seq.;  made  a  proclamation,  128;  his 


INDEX 


595 


manoeuvres  at  Fort  Sullivan,  129  et  seq. ; 
his  troops  in  a  useless  positipn,  133; 
his  departure  from  South  Carolina,  134; 
plan  of,  to  meet  Burgoyne  on  the  Hud 
son,  229;  started  from  Xew  York,  255; 
given  the  British  command,  315;  delays 
of,  316;  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  318  et 
seq.;  his  retreat,  323;  his  losses,  324; 
movement  of,  toward  Charleston,  362; 
the  proclamation  of,  364;  the  assertion 
of,  with  regard  to  South  Carolina,  367; 
Stony  Point  fortified  by,  456;  move 
ment  of,  into  Xew  Jersey,  470;  his  lack 
of  troops,  471;  expeditions  sent  by,  into 
Virginia,  498,  499;  alarmed,  511;  per 
mitted  Graves  to  go  South,  512;  in 
formed  that  the  situation  at  Yorktown 
was  desperate,  519;  tardy  arrival  of,  to 
aid  Cornwallis,  522;  his  official  report 
of  the  defeat  at  Yorktown,  529;  suc 
ceeded  by  Carleton,  530 

Clinton,    Fort,    255 

Clive,    399 

Clove,    Long,    479 

Cobden,    Richard,    567 

Coffin,    439 

Collier,    Sir    George,    467 

Concord,  50,  59,  90,  138,  180,  527,  553, 
559;  munitions  of  war  stored  at,  31;  the 
town  warned  by  Prescott,  32;  the  ap 
proach  of  the  British  toward,  40;  no 
stores  found  there,  42;  the  fight  at  the 
bridge,  44,  45 

Congaree    River,    the,    432,    439 

Congress,  the  first  American,  559;  dele 
gates  at,  4-12;  Declaration  of  Rights 
adopted  by,  20;  the  meaning  of  the  Con 
gress,  21-24;  adjournment  of,  25;  con 
servatism  of,  151 

Congress,  the  second  American,  meeting 
of,  57,  64;  problems  confronting,  59,  65 
et  seq.;  delegates  from  Georgia  in,  124 

Congress,  208,  249;  demands  of,  on 
Washington,  up;  responsibility  resting 
on,  136-143;  adjournment  of,  143;  reas 
sembled,  144;  letter  of  Washington  to, 
145;  appointed  a  committee  on  Foreign 
Relations,  149;  demanded  that  Boston 
be  taken  at  once,  150;  the  movement  in, 
to  gain  the  independence  of  the  colonies, 
155  et  seq.;  appointed  a  committee  to 
draft  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
I57»  a  plan  for  the  destruction  of  Xew 
York  submitted  to,  195;  lack  of  fore 
sight  and  determination  in,  205;  ad 
journment  of,  to  Baltimore,  207;  failed 
to  support  Schuyler,  232;  selected  Gates 
to  take  Schuyler's  place,  248;  diplo 
matic  attempts  of,  to  get  foreign  assist 
ance,  265  et  seq. ;  authorized  Arthur 
Lee  to  ascertain  the  attitude  of  Europe 
toward  America,  266;  appointed  Deane 
an  agent  to  France,  267;  sent  Franklin 
to  Paris,  268;  sent  John  Adams  to 
France,  272;  flight  of,  from  Philadel 
phia,  290;  failed  to  appreciate  Washing 
ton,  300  et  seq. ;  carping  and  fault 
finding  in,  306  et  seq.;  its  attitude  tow 
ard  foreigners  in  the  army,  309;  the 
Con  way  party  in,  310;  visit  of  a  commit 
tee  of,  to  Valley  Forge,  311;  intrigues 
in.  313;  produced  the  Articles  of  Con 
federation,  328;  a  distressing  spectacle, 
329;  sent  Benjamin  Lincoln  South,  355; 
its  choice  of  a  general  for  the  army  in 
the  South,  374;  allowed  Washington 
to  select  a  commander,  393;  granted 


Greene's  demands,  394;  ignored  Mor 
gan,  401;  activity  in,  451;  discussion  of 
the  terms  of  peace,  452,  453;  tailure  ot, 
to  support  Washington,  469;  bitter  let 
ters  of  Washington  to,  472;  at  last  gave 
Arnold  a  commission,  475;  Arnold  ac 
quitted  of  Reed's  charges  by  a  commit 
tee  of,  477;  again  indifferent  to  \\asn- 
ington,  492;  method  of,  of  quelling  a 
mutiny,  493;  inefficiency  of,  493;  Morris 
made  Superintendent  of  Finances  by, 
495;  frightened  by  another  mutiny,  507; 
told  by  Washington  of  the  possibility  of 
his  moving  southward,  509;  plan  ot,  to 
reduce  the  army,  513;  a  peace  commis 
sion  selected  by,  532;  the  instructions 
of,  violated  by  Franklin,  541 ;  Washing 
ton  aided  by,  in  increasing  the  army, 
543;  warned  of  danger  by  Washington, 
544;  injustice  of,  to  the  army,  544,  545; 
listened  to  the  appeal  of  Washington, 
546;  Washington's  commission  returned 
to,  550 

Congress,  the  Provincial,  of  Massachusetts, 
desire  of,  for  peace  and  union,  29;  ad 
journment  of,  30;  sent  a  letter  to  Eng 
land,  53;  its  demands  on  Washington, 

I  10 

Connecticut,  53,  59,  106,  267,  502,  507; 
rights  of,  discussed  in  Congress,  145; 
expedition  of  Tryon  into,  455 

Connecticut    River,    242 

Conway,  320;  weaver  of  a  plot  against 
Washington,  309-311 

Conway,  motion  of,  in  Parliament,  against 
continuing  the  American  war,  530 

Cooper   River,   the,   435 

Copley,  the  portrait  of  Samuel  Adams 
by,  7 

Copp's    Hill,    78 

Cornwallis,  Lord,  288,  299,  372,  380,  382, 
385,  390,  39i,  395,  396,  401,  406,  408, 
428,  441,  449,  501,  505,  507,  508,  509,  511, 
543;  the  landing  of,  in  North  Carolina, 
126;  at  Xewton  and  Princeton,  217-222; 
crossed  the  Brandy  wine,  287;  marched 
into  Philadelphia,  290;  at  Charleston, 
364;  at  Cam  den,  376  et  seq.;  forced  to 
abandon  his  northern  march,  393;  an 
efficient  commander,  399;  his  southern 
campaign  against  Greene,  410-426;  the 
movements  forced  upon  him  by  Greene, 
496  et  seq. ;  evaded  by  Lafayette,  502- 
504;  intrenched  himself  at  Yorktown, 
505;  shut  in  at  Yorktown,  515;  at  the 
siege  of  Yorktown,  516  et  seq.;  sur 
render  of,  525 

Cornwallis,    Fort,    432 

C'owpens,  the,  385,  401,  408,  410,  412, 
445;  the  victory  at  the,  404-406 

Creasy,    Sir    Edward,    263 

Creoles,    340,    345,    347 

Crosswicks,     319 

Crown   Point,    201,  228;   capture  of,   63 

Cruger,   380,  390,  433,  434,   435 

Currency,    paper,    454 


DAM  AS,    COUNT  DE,   519 

Dan    River,    411,    414,    415,    417 

Davidson,   369,   412 

Da  vie,    369 

Dawes,    William,   warned   Lexington   of   the 

approach   of  the   British,    32-34 
Dean,    John,    483 
Deane,   Silas,    156,   309;    appointed  an  agent 

to    France,    267;    attacked    by    Lee,    268; 


596 


INDEX 


received    by    Yergennes,     270;    his    place         "Farmer,    the    Westchester,"    15; 
taken   by   John   Adams,   272  "Farmer's   Letters,"    the,    152 


Dearborn,    256 

De  Barras,  507,  512,  514;  his  feelings  in 
jured,  509;  conciliated,  510 

De  Bonvouloir  sent  secretly  to  America, 
266 

De  Grasse,  507,  510,  511,  512,  516,  543;  letter 
of,  saying  that  he  would  co-operate  in  a 
movement  against  Cornwallis,  508,  509; 
appeal  of  Washington  to,  514 

De  Kalb,  268,  309;  sent  South  by  Wash 
ington,  373;  the  death  of,  377 

Deep    River,    425 

De    Peyster,    389,   390 

De  Rochambeau,  507,  508,  510;  in  New 
port,  471,  472;  at  Hartford,  473;  oppo 
sition  of,  to  a  plan  of  Washington's, 
506;  visit  of,  to  Mount  Yernon  with 
Washington,  514 

Delaplace,  surrender  of,  at  Ticonderoga, 
63 

Delaware,  395;  in  favor  of  the  indepen 
dence  of  the  colonies,  157,  158 

Delaware    River,    207,    208,    282,    295,    327 

Democracy,  the  significance  of  the  Revo 
lution,  as  the  beginning  of  a  movement 
actuated  by  the  spirit  of,  552  et  seq. 

Demont,    William,    200 

Derby,    Lord,    229 

D'Estaing,  appeared  off  New  York,  325, 
514;  at  Newport,  326;  captured  four 
men-of-war,  357;  his  brave  attack  on 
Savannah,  358 

Detroit,    144,    332,    340,    346,    351 

Deux    Fonts,    Count    de,    519 

Dickenson,    320 

Dickinson,  John,  144,  146,  156,  159;  the 
address  to  the  King  drawn  up  by,  20; 
leader  of  a  movement  to  set  the  griev 
ances  of  the  colonies  before  Great  Brit 
ain,  and  before  certain  American  colo 
nies,  67;  drafted  a  second  petition  to 
the  King,  140;  the  "Farmer's  Letters," 
152;  his  conservatism,  158 

Dillon,    Count,    34 

Dobb's    Ferry,    198 

Donop,   Count,   296 

Dorchester,    Lord,    562 

Dorchester  Heights,  the  plan  of  the  British 
to  seize,  73;  the  plan  given  up,  90; 
works  thrown  up  on,  113 

Dunmore,  Lord,  flight  of,  from  Yirginia, 
121-123;  "Lord  Dunmore 's  War,"  400 

EAST    FLORIDA,    354 

East    River,    184,    196 

Edward,  Fort,  233;  arrival  of  Burgoyne 
at,  235;  Stark  at,  258 

Elk    River,    the,    284,    299,    1500 

Elk,    Head    of,    511 

Elliott,    British    Minister  at   Berlin,    271 

England,  passim;  gave  more  to  America 
than  she  intended,  541;  the  Reform  Bill 
passed  by,  555;  the  effect  of  American 
independence  on,  560  et  seq. 

English  Channel,   the,  450 

Europe,  passim ;  attitude  of,  toward  Amer 
ica,  sounded  by  Congress,  266  et  seq. 

Eutaw  Springs,  445;  the  battle  of,  439, 
440;  results  of  the  battle,  441 

Ewing,    208 

"Experiment,"    the,     129,    130 

FABIUS,    the    word   applied   to    Washington, 

301,   306,   324 
Falmouth    destroyed    by    the    British,    121 


Febiger,    Colonel,    459 

Ferguson,  Patrick,  327,  380,  381,  384, 
391;  at  the  battle  of  King's  Mountain, 
385-390;  death  of,  390 

Fisheries.      See    Newfoundland 

Fishing    Creek,    371 

Fishkill    River,    the,    258 

Fitzherbert,    539 

Flint  Hill,  384,   385,  386 

Florida,  353,  508;  plan  of  Washington  to 
invade,  506,  507 

Florida,    East,     129 

Flpridas,    the,    573 

"Flying    Machine,"    the,    2 

Ford,   427 

Fordham,    198 

Forrest,   at   Trenton,    217 

Fox,  Charles,  424,  530,  531,  532,  533,  534,  540, 
558 

France,  330,  526,  528,  535,  539,  540,  541,  562, 
575;  hold  of,  lost  on  North  America, 
12,  266;  efforts  of,  to  sound  the  Govern 
ment  of  America,  266  et  seq. ;  the  atti 
tude  of,  toward  America,  269  et  seq.; 
two  treaties  made  with  America,  270; 
in  Yoltaire's  time,  276  et  seq.;  money 
borrowed  in,  329;  desire  of,  for  peace, 
450,  451;  negotiations  of  Franklin  with, 
533.  534!  meddled  with  the  conditions 
of  peace,  536;  revolution  in,  553,  554,  555, 
557,  560 

Franklin,  Benjamin,  i,  140,  160,  167,  267, 
3J5»  457>  the  European  reputation  of, 
12;  the  influence  of,  57,  58;  his  plan 
for  a  confederate  government,  142;  on  a 
committee  in  Congress,  145;  appointed 
on  a  committee  to  draft  the  Declaration 
of  Independence,  157;  interview  of  De 
Bonvouloir  with,  266;  on  a  commission 
sent  to  France,  268;  encouraged  by  Ver- 
gennes,  269,  270;  received  with  Yoltaire 
by  the  French  Academy,  272;  Yoltaire 
and  Franklin,  275;  coldly  received  by 
King  Louis,  277;  diplomatic  negotiations 
of,  with  England,  532  et  seq.;  the  tri 
umph  of,,  540,  541 

Franklin,  Governor  William,  146;  arrested, 
157 

Franklin,    Tennessee,    381 

Fraser,  250,  251;  mortally  wounded,  256; 
buried  in  an  mtrenchment,  258 

Frederick  of  Prussia,  12,  125,  182,  223, 
264,  271,  314 

Freehold,    319 

Freeman's  Farm,  the  battle  of,  250,  251; 
the  loss  on  both  sideSi  252;  results  of 
the  battle,  255;  Arnold  at,  475 

French,  the,  329,  330,  347,  357,  358,  439, 
448,  471,  472,  490,  499,  500,  505,  507, 
511,  512,  515,  516;  at  Newport,  325-327; 
settlements  of,  on  the  western  frontier  of 
the  Colonies,  337;  at  Kaskaskia,  339 
et  seq.;  their  unwillingness  to  have 
Clark  leave  them,  345;  their  desertion, 
346;  at  Yincennes,  348  et  seq.;  at  York- 
town,  519  et  seq. 

Freneau,     152 

GADSDEN,  CHRISTOPHER,  4;  in  command 
of  a  regiment  in  South  Carolina,  127 

Gage,  General,  116;  his  efforts  to  quell  the 
uprising  in  Boston,  28-30;  gave  his  at 
tention  to  Smith's  appeal,  40;  inconsis 
tency  of,  71;  called  a  council  of  war, 
78;  taught  a  lesson  by  Washington,  no 


INDEX 


597 


Gansevo9rt,  Colonel,  attacked  in  Fort 
Stanwix,  239;  refused  to  surrender,  241 

Gates,  Horatio,  306,  394,  396,  401,  414, 
448,  475;  appointed  Adjutant-General, 
68;  came  to  Washington's  aid,  208;  se 
lected  to  supersede  Schuyler,  248;  his 
large  army,  249;  the  battle  of  Freeman's 
Farm,  250,  251;  quarrel  of,  with  Arnold, 
255;  engaged  Burgoyne,  256;  did  not 
insist  on  unconditional  surrender,  258; 
grotesque  comparisons  between  him  and 
Washington,  300  et  seq.  ;  at  the  head 
of  a  Board  of  War,  310;  sent  North 
again,  311;  selected  by  Congress  to  com 
mand  the  army  in  the  South,  374;  his 
decision  to  advance  on  Camden,  375;  at 
Camden,  376-379 

George  III.,  10,  n,  15,  16,  22,  140,  183, 
269,  271,  277,  530,  544;  his  decision  to 
attack  the  Southern  colonies,  125;  re 
fused  to  receive  the  bearer  of  a  petition 
from  Congress,  146;  his  proclamation, 
149;  a  tyrant,  172;  attempts  of,  to  obtain 
mercenaries,  181,  182;  had  directed  that 
Indians  be  employed,  231;  his  obstinacy, 

529 

George,    Lake,   235,   250 

Georgetown,    367 

Georgia,  355,  364.  372,  436,  448,  506; 
representative  of,  in  the  second  Conti 
nental  Congress,  66;  at  the  outbreak  of 
the  Revolution,  124,  125;  conquest  of, 

'  planned  by  the  British,  353,  354;  the 
English  left  by  Lincoln  in  complete 
possession  of,  357;  the  British  policy  of 
devastation  in,  361;  in  the  control  of 
the  enemy,  432;  Wayne  in,  442 

Gerard,  sent  as  minister  to  the  United 
States,  270;  activity  of,  among  members 
of  Congress,  452 

Germain,  Lord  George,  248,  255,  279; 
planned  a  campaign,  230;  the  southern 
British  campaign  planned  by,  353,  354; 
left  the  Cabinet,  530 

Germans  in  the  British  army,  182,  230, 
232 

Germantown,  289,  300,  323,  324,  460; 
General  Howe  at,  618  et  seq.;  with 
drawal  of  Howe  from,  623 

Germany,    554,     555,    568 

Gibraltar,    450,   539 

Gilbertown,    384 

Gladstone,    Mr.,    566 

Gloucester,    505,    515,    521,    525 

Glover,    198,    211 

Gordon,    Dr.,    41 

Gowanus    Creek,    190 

Granby,    Fort,    432 

Graves,    Admiral,    511 

Great   Lakes,   the,    330,   352 

Greece,    555 

Green   an    authority   on    George   III.,    172 

Green   Spring,   505 

Greene,    Colonel,    at    Fort    Mercer,    296 

Greene,  Nathaniel,  199,  299,  315,  319,  406, 
432,  448,  470,  473,  500,  501,  502,  506,  543; 
appointed  Brigadier-General,  68;  in  com 
mand  on  Long  Island,  189;  declared 
Fort  Washington  impregnable,  200; 
joined  Washington  with  his  army,  202; 
the  attack  on  Trenton,  211,  212;  at 
Chad's  Ford,  288;  at  Germantown,  291, 
292;  at  Philadelphia,  299;  became  Quar 
termaster-General,  314;  at  Newport,  325, 


326;  Washington's  choice  of,  not  in 
dorsed  by  Congress,  374;  selected  as 
commander  by  Washington  with  the  ap 


proval  of  Congress,  393;  his  demands 
granted,  394;  his  preparations  for  a 
southern  campaign,  395  et  seq.;  gave 
Morgan  a  separate  command,  401;  his 
campaign  in  the  South,  409  et  seq. ;  his 
ride  in  search  of  Morgan,  411;  his  ef 
forts  to  prevent  the  advance  of  Cornwal- 
lis  southward,  412-425;  determined  to 
accept  battle,  419;  the  battle  at  Guilford 
Court  House,  420-424;  decided  on  a  new 
movement,  426;  attacked  at  Hobkirk's 
Hill  by  Lord  Rawdon,  427, 428;  results  of 
the  southward  movement,  431;  attack  of, 
on  Ninety-six,  433,  434;  withdrawal  of,  to 
the  hills  of  the  Santee,  435;  angry  at  the 
execution  of  Colonel  Hayne,  436;  at  the 
battle  of  Eutaw  Springs,  439,  440;  rein 
forced  by  Wayne,  441;  the  evacuation 
of  Charleston,  442;  the  end  of  his  ad 
mirable  campaign,  445-447;  tribute  of 
Wayne  to,  447;  treatment  of  Congress 
of,  477;  his  movement  in  forcing  Corn- 
wallis  north,  496-498 

Grenville,    Thomas,    533,    534 

Grey,    General,    attack   of,   on   Wayne,    290 

Gridley,    74 

Grierson,    Fort,   432 

Grimaldi,   271 

Guilford,  412,  427,  441,  445,  501;  the 
battle  at,  419-424 

Guilford    Court    House,   419 

Gunby,    Colonel,  427 

Gunning,    181 

HADRELL'S    POINT,    127 

Hall,  Lyman,  in  the  second  Continental 
Congress,  66 

Hamilton,  Alexander,  318,  396,  484.,  487, 
571,  574;  the  arguments  of,  for  the  in 
dependence  of  the  Colonies,  152;  his 
description  of  Valley  Forge,  305;  at 
Yorktown,  519 

Hamilton,  Henry,  the  "hair-buyer,"  332, 
333;  news  of  the  invasion  of  Illinois 
brought  to,  345;  went  to  meet  Clark, 
346;  attacked  by  Clark  at  Yincennes, 
347-35 1;  made  prisoner,  352 

Hampton    attacked    by    Lord    Dunmore,    122 

Hancock,  John,  59;  refuge  of,  in  Lexing 
ton,  30;  roused  by  Paul  Revere,  32;  per 
suaded  to  go  to  Woburn  with  Samuel 
Adams,  34;  a  delegate  at  the  second 
American  Congress,  54,  58;  president  of 
the  second  Congress,  65,  66 

Hand,   212;   at  the  battle  of   Trenton,    217 

Hanging    Rock,    372 

Harlem    Heights,    196,    197 

Harrison,  Benjamin,  a  member  of  the  sec 
ond  Continental  Congress,  66;  on  a 
committee,  145 

Hartford,    473 

Haverstraw,    479 

Haw    River,    the,   419 

Hayne,    Colonel,   436 

Hazlewood,    Commodore,    296 

Heath,    General,    52,    68,    511 

Heister,    189 

Helm,    346 

Henry,  Patrick,  10,  12,  18;  at  the  first 
Congress,  8,  9;  at  the  second  Congress, 
57;  encouraged  Clark,  338 

Herkimer,  General,  261;  expedition  of,  to 
relieve  Fort  Stanwix,  239  et  seq.;  »ior- 
tally  wounded,  239 

Herrick,   243 

Hessians,  183,  205,  208,  242,  261,  296, 
299,  439,  464,  470;  obtained  by  King 


598 


INDEX 


George,     182;     at    Trenton,    212    et    seq.; 

at   the   battle    of   Bennington,   243   et   seq. 

See    Germans 
Highlanders,    the,    in    North    Carolina,    123; 

uprisings  of,    155 
Hillsborough,    378,   401,   417 
Hobkirk's    Hill,    427,    428,    441,    445 
Holland,  attempt  of  King  George  to   obtain 

mercenaries    in,    181;    an    effort    of    Con- 

fress  to  sound  the  attitude  of,  268;  re 
used  to  aid  England,  271;  war  made 
by  England  on,  452 

Holston,    339,    381,    382 

Hood,   511,   512 

Hopewell,    318 

Hopkins,    4 

Hopkinson,     152 

Horse    Shoe    Plain,    348 

Howard,   John    Eager,    396,    399,    405 

Howe,  Robert,  the  retaliatory  expedition 
of,  354 

Howe,  General  Sir  William,  71,  116,  185, 
215,  270,  279,  290,  302,  303,  323,  399; 
called  for  reinforcements,  80;  in  com 
mand  of  the  British  advance  on  Bunker 
Hill,  8 1  et  seq.;  the  evacuation  of  Bos 
ton,  114;  advance  of  the  British  on  New 
York,  184  et  seq.;  landing  of,  at  Kip's 
Bay,  196;  movement  of,  toward  Fort 
Washington,  199;  the  capture  of  Fort 
Washington,  200,  201;  plan  of,  to  unite 
with  Carleton  on  the  Hudson,  228,  229; 
the  instructions  directing  him  to  join 
Burgoyne  delayed,  230;  his  movements 
after  "the  battle  of  Princeton,  281  et 
seq.;  crossed  the  Brandywine,  287;  met 
by  Washington  at  West  Chester,  289; 
practically  besieged,  295;  opened  fire  on 
Fort  Mifflin,  296;  in  full  possession  of 
Philadelphia,  299;  avoided  by  Washing 
ton  at  \Yhitemarsh,  300;  recalled,  315; 
ovation  to,  in  Philadelphia,  316;  the  ap 
pearance  of,  at  Newport,  326 

Huck,  Captain,  372;  attacked  by  Colonel 
Bratton,  371 

Hudson  River,  59,  226,  249,  258,  264,  269, 
279,  281,  448,  460,  470,  478,  490,  556, 
578,  586;  the  fight  for  the  Hudson,  184- 
201;  determination  of  Washington  to 
keep  the  line  of,  open,  449,  455,  468; 
failure  of  the  first  British  campaign  for, 
557;  the  second  attempt  for,  557 

Huger,    411,    412 


ILLINOIS,  337,  345,  346;  Clark  instructed 
to  invade,  338;  the  news  of  the  invasion 
brought  to  Hamilton,  345 

Independence,  the  Declaration  of,  265, 
268;  a  committee  appointed  to  draft, 
157;  the  work  of  preparing  the  draft 
intrusted  to  Jefferson,  157,  160;  sub 
mitted  to  Congress  and  published,  167; 
read  to  the  army  under  Washington, 
168;  misplaced  criticisms  of,  168  et  seq.; 
the  spirit  of  the  Declaration,  176-179 

Indians,  the,  106,  183,  234,  242,  244,  261, 
345.  381,  390,  400,  432,  442,  457,  562;  in 
Burgoyne's  army,  230-232;  the  murder 
of  Miss  McCrea,  235,  236;  at  Fort  Stan- 
wix,  236  et  seq.;  flight  of,  from  Fort 
Stanwix,  241;  on  the  western  frontier 
of  the  Colonies,  331  et  seq.;  couriers 
sent  out  to  alarm  the,  345;  their  return 
to  British  allegiance,  346;  at  Vincennes, 
348  et  seq.;  the  confederacy  of  the 
Indians  with  the  British  broken  by 


Clark    in    the    west,     352;    expedition    of 
Sullivan   against,   468 
Italy,    556 

JACKSON,   563 

Jamaica    Plain,    30 

James,   Major,    367,   369 

James    River,    the,    471,    505 

Jamieson,  Colonel,  487;  conduct  of,  with 
reference  to  Major  Andre,  482,  483 

Japan,    556 

Jasper,    Sergeant,    130 

Jay,  John,  541,  562;  at  the  first  American 
Congress,  4;  address  to  the  people  of 
Great  Britain  drawn  up  by,  20;  at  the 
second  Congress,  57;  advised  the  de 
struction  of  New  York,  195;  sent  as 
envoy  to  Spain,  453;  a  peace  commis 
sioner,  532;  message  of  Franklin  to, 
533;  his  strong  stand  on  the  question 
of  the  Mississippi,  535,  539;  desired  Par 
liament  to  acknowledge  the  indepen 
dence  of  the  Colonies,  535;  made  the 
draft  of  the  treaty  of  Paris,  536;  value 
of  his  diplomatic  services,  540 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  59,  158,  168,  171;  in 
the  second  Congress,  66;  on  the  com 
mittee  to  draft  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence,  157,  1 60;  his  character,  160- 
164;  his  blow  at  the  royal  power,  172; 
his  imagination  and  foresight,  175;  the 
spirit  of  the  Declaration,  176-179;  inter 
view  of  Greene  with,  395;  his  efforts  to 
prepare  for  the  defence  of  Virginia,  499; 
escape  of,  from  Tarleton,  503;  efforts 
of,  to  bring  about  close  relations  be 
tween  England  and  the  United  States, 
562;  the  Louisiana  purchase,  573 

Jersey    City,    463 

Jerseys,   the,    491.      See    New  Jersey 

Johnson,  moved  that  Washington  be  made 
Commander-in-chief,  67 

Johnson,    106 

Johnson,    Sir    John,    155 

Johnson,   Fort,    127 

Jones,    John    Paul,    450 

Junius,   the    letters  of,    15 

KASKASKIA,  345,  346,  348;  the  capture  of, 
339-  34o;  the  departure  of  Clark  from, 

Kenton,    334;    Clark   aided   by,    339 

Kentucky,  333,  337,  381,  572;  the  pioneers 
of,  334  et  seq.;  Clark  authorized  to  go 
to  the  relief  of,  338 

Kingsbridge,    184 

King's    Ferry,    255,    456,    468 

King's  Mountain,  392,  393,  395,  406,  408, 
410,  498;  the  battle  of,  385-390;  decisive 
ness  of  the  battle,  391 

Kingston,    255 

Kip's    Bay,    196,    197,   467 

Knowlton,  Colonel,  at  Charlestown,  80; 
the  death  of,  196 

Knox,    Henry,     113,    487 

Knyphausen,  319,  470;  at  Chad's  Ford, 
287,  288 

Kosciusko,    268,    417 

LAFAYETTE,  487,  512,  514;  determined  to 
enlist  in  the  American  cause,  268;  aided 
Green,  299;  his  description  of  Valley 
Forge,  305;  his  enthusiasm,  309;  the  at 
tempt  of  Howe  to  surprise,  316;  dis 
placed  by  Lee,  319;  sent  to  Sullivan's 
aid,  325;  detached  to  pursue  Arnold, 
499,  500;  march  of,  to  Richmond,  501; 


INDEX 


599 


evasion  of  Cornwallis  by,  502-594;  at  the 
battle  of  Green  Spring,  505;  given  com 
mand  of  a  redoubt,  519 

Lameth,    Chevalier    de,   519 

Lancaster,    290 

Langdon,   Samuel,   74 

Laurens,  John,  442;  letter  of  Washington 
to,  494;  at  Yorktpwn,  519;  on  a  peace 
commission,  532;  inserted  a  clause  relat 
ing  to  slaves  in  the  Paris  treaty,  539 

Lauzun,   the   Due   de,   515,    516,    528 

Lawson,  419 

Learned,    251,    256 

Lechmere    Point,    34 

Lecky,  \V.  E.  II.,  an  authority  on  George 
III.,  172 

Ledyard,    Colonel,    502 

Lee,  Arthur,  330;  authorized  by  Congress 
to  ascertain  the  attitude  of  Europe  tow 
ard  America,  266;  interviewed  by  Beau- 
marchais,  267;  misrepresented  Deane, 
268;  considerately  treated  in  Berlin,  271 

Lee,  General  Charles,  68,  158,  207;  pro 
nounced  a  fort  in  South  Carolina  vise- 
less,  126;  urged  building  a  bridge  for 
his  troops  to  retreat  over,  127;  captured, 
205;  Gates  compared  to  him,  249;  his 
one  conviction,  318;  his  conduct  at  the 
battle  of  Monmouth,  319.  320 

Lee,  Henry,  396,  399,  416,  417,  418,  420,  423, 
426,  428,  431,  435,  441,  445,  446,  459; 
authorized  to  raise  a  regiment  of  caval 
ry,  394,  395;  Fort  Granby  taken  by, 
432;  arrival  of,  at  Ninety-six,  433;  his 
attack,  434;  at  the  battle  of  Eutaw 
Springs,  440;  attack  of,  on  Paulus 
Hook,  463-467 

Lee,  Richard  Henry,  158,  306;  at  the  first 
American  Congress,  7;  at  the  second 
Congress,  57;  motion  of,  for  the  inde 
pendence  of  the  Colonies,  156 

Lee,   Fort,    199;   evacuated,    202 

Leitch,   Major,    196 

Leslie,    Colonel,   29,  498 

Lexington,  50,  59,  90,  150,  151,  474,  559; 
expedition  of  the  British  to,  discovered, 
31;  the  ride  of  Revere  to,  32;  advance  of 
the  British  toward,  34,  35;  the  first 
bloodshed  of  the  Revolution  at,  36;  the 
march  of  Lord  Percy  through,  42 

"Light  Horse  Harry."      See  Lee,   Henry 

Lincoln,  Benjamin,  369,  372,  373,  408, 
521,  525;  his  movements  in  the  rear  of 
Burgoyne,  250;  in  Georgia,  355  et  seq.; 
failure  of,  to  reach  Prevost,  357;  with 
drawal  of,  to  Charleston,  361;  his  de 
cision  to  wait  for  the  British  at  Charles 
ton,  362  et  seq.;  made  a  prisoner  of 
war,  364 

Lisle,    Colonel,   372 

Little   Catawba   River,    the,   406 

Little    Egg   Harbor,   327 

•"Lively,"    the,    77 

Livingston,  Robert,  at  the  second  Amer 
ican  Congress,  58;  on  a  committee  to 
draft  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 
157 

Logan,    334,    381 

London,  news  of  Yorktown  received  in, 
529 

Londonderry,    94 

Long,  Colonel,  retreat  of,  from  Ticon- 
deroga,  233 

Long-  Island,  106,  196,  197,  198,  289,  323;  the 
landing  of  British  troops  on,  189;  the 
battle  of,  189-195 

Long  Island,   S.  C.,   128,  129,    130,   133 


Long   Island    Sound,    327 

Louis  XVI.,  King  of  France,  270,  277, 
520,  527 

Louisiana,    the    purchase  of,    573 

Louisville,   339 

Lovell,  41 

Lovell,  James,  wished  to  remove  Washing 
ton  from  the  command  of  the  Conti 
nental  Army,  306 

Loyalists,  399,  435,  441,  446,  477;  in  the 
South,  361;  security  of,  asked  for  as  a 
condition  of  peace,  535,  536,  539 

Lynch    on   a    committee,    145 

Lynch's    Creek,    375 

Lynn    Haven    Bay,    512 

MACDONALD,    FLORA,    123 

"Mad  Anthony,"   458,   467 

Magaw,    Colonel,    200 

Magna    Charta,    175 

Maine,    Arnold's    march    through,    106,   475 

Maine    boundary,    the,    533,    536 

Maitland,  Colonel,  357,  358 

Malagrida,    531 

Malvern,    505 

Manhattan  Island,  195,  199,  508;  fortified 
by  Washington,  510 

Marie    Antoinette,    270 

Marion,  Francis,  369,  373,  375,  392,  393, 
414,  426,  428,  431,  435,  439,  441,  446 

Martha's  Vineyard,    327 

Martin,    Governor,    123 

Maryland,  395;  in  favor  of  the  indepen 
dence  of  the  Colonies,  157 

Massachusetts,  53,  57,  65,  66,  118,  121,  125, 
156,  234,  243,  248,  267,  325;  delegates 
at  first  Congress  from,  4-7;  the  culmina 
tion  of  resistance  to  England  in,  26  et 
seq. ;  the  Provincial  Congress  of,  29,  30, 
53,  99,  110;  delegates  from,  at  the  sec 
ond  Congress,  54 

Matthews,   General,   455,   456 

Maurepas,    267 

Mawhood,    Colonel,    at    Princeton,    218 

Maxwell,  77,  283,  319,  470;  encounter  of, 
with  Howe,  284 

Mayham,    Lieut. -Colonel,   433 

McClary,  Major  Andrew,  the  death  of,  at 
Bunker  Hill,  90 

McCrea,   Miss,  235,    236 

McDonough,     563 

McDougal,   General,    198 

McDowell,    382 

McGowan's   Ford,   412 

McHenry,  484 

McLane,    Captain,    464 

Medford,   32 

Mercer   at   Princeton,    218 

Mercer,    Fort,  attacked,  296 

Merriam's   Corners,   46 

Mexican    War,   the,    573 

Middlebrook,    281,    327 

Middlesex    elections,    the,    14 

Mifflin,  Thomas,  an  opponent  of  Wash 
ington,  310;  put  under  Washington's 
orders,  311 

Mifflin,    Fort,    295,    296 

Miller,    Fort,    234 

Millstone,    the,    near    Princeton,    221 

Ministry,  the  British,  228,  229,  230,  262,  270, 
315,  317,  331,  353,  367,  47i,  497,  53O, 
532,  536,  567-  See  North,  Lord,  and 
Rockingham,  Lord 

Minute  Men.  the,  30,  50,  51,  52;  the  captain 
of,  warned  at  Medford  by  Revere,  32; 
aroused  at  Lexington  by  Bowman,  35; 
the  fight  at  Concord  Bridge,  45;  their 


6oo 


INDEX 


mode  of  fighting,  46-49;  at  Bunker  Hill, 
89;  in  North  Carolina,  123,  155 

Mischianza,    the,   316 

Mississippi  River,  the,  337,  352,  453,  535, 
536;  proposed  to  England  as  the  western 
boundary  of  the  United  States,  534 

Mississippi    Valley,    the,    330,    331 

Mohawk     River,    the,     106,     155,    231,    242, 

-49 

Monk's    Corner,    431 
Monmouth,     the     battle     of,     319-323,     325, 

400;   results  of   the   battle,    651,   652 
Monmouth    Court   House,    319 
Monroe,   James,    573,    575 
Monroe    Doctrine,   the,    563,    575 
Montgomery,      49,      68,      474;      capture      of 

Montreal    by,    106;    joined    Arnold,    107; 

death  of,    108 
Montgomery,    Fort,    255 
Montreal,    captured    by    Montgomery,     106; 

the       Americans      obliged      to      withdraw 

from,    109 

Moore,  Thomas,    564 
Morgan     forced     to    surrender    at     Quebec, 

1 08 
Morgan,    Daniel,    248,    250,    256,    261,    396, 

410,  411,  412,  414,  445;  the  story  of  his  life, 

400   et   seq. ;    his   engagement    with   Tarle- 

ton,    401-405;    his    victory,    406-408;    treat 
ment    of   Congress    of,    477 
Morris,   Gouverneur,    306,    496 
Morris,    Robert,    159,    507,   509;.  account  of, 

495   et  seq.;   the    liberality   of,    558 
Morristown,    281;    mutiny  at,   493 
Motte,    Fort,    431,    432 
Moulton's    Point,    79 
Moultrie,      William,      355,     356;     in     South 

Carolina,     126    et    seq.;     his    defence    of 

Fort    Sullivan,    129    et    seq. 
Moultrie,     Fort,    363 
Mount    Yernon,    514,    549,    551 
Mowatt,    Captain,    the    destruction    of    Fal- 

mouth   by,    121 
Muhlenberg,    General,  459 
Murfree,   Major,   459 

NAPOLEON,    554,    563 

Narrows,    the,    325 

Neilson's    Ferry,    432 

Nelson,    513 

Neversink    Hills,   the,    319 

New    Bedford,   70,   326 

New  Hampshire,  53,  242,  243;  uncertainty 
of  the  position  of,  146 

New    Haven,    474 

New  Jersey,  146,  198,  215,  234,  281,  282, 
306,  318,  327,  400,  441,  456,  457,  490, 
511,  554,  624;  sustained  Congress  in  the 
movement  for  independence,  157;  rav 
ages  of  the  British  in,  205;  advance  of 
Knyphausen  into,  470;  mutiny  in,  493; 
British  troops  quartered  in,  534 

New   London,    502 

New   Orleans,    563 

New  Salem,  484 

New  York,  191,  196,  255,  279,  282,  283,  284, 
299,  316,  318,  324,  325,  326,  327,  328,  353,  362, 
448,  453,  455,  456,  463,  467,  468,  470,  472, 
480,  490,  502,  507,  508,  509,  514,  522,  530, 
549,  55o;  the  first  object  of  British  at 
tack,  184  et  seq.;  destruction  of,  pro 
posed  to  Congress,  195;  head-quarters  of 
the  British  in,  208;  the  retreat  of  Clin 
ton  to,  323;  a  movement  on,  feigned  by 
\Yashington,  511 

New  York,  the  State  of,  59,  63,  146,  226, 
228,  234,  248,  261,  265,  280,  441,  457, 


476;  representatives  of,  in  the  second 
Congress,  58;  in  favor  of  independence, 
157;  but  refused  to  vote,  158,  159^  at 
tacks  of  Hamilton  on  the  frontier  of, 
332;  expedition  of  Sullivan  against  the 
Indians  in,  468 

New  York,  the  Provincial  Congress  of, 
the  plan  of  for  reconciliation,  139 

Newburg,    546 

Newcastle,    198 

Newfoundland,  325;  fisheries  of,  in  the 
Paris  treaty,  534,  535,  536,  539 

Newport,     324,     328,     471,     472,     499,     507, 

510;   cannon    at,   removed   from  the  reach 

^  of  the  British,  29;  the  attack  on,   325-327 

Newspapers,    152 

Newtown,    468 

Nichols,    243 

Ninety-six    433,  434,  435 

Nortolk,   the  burning  of,    122 

North,  Lord,  53,  143,  160,  356,  529,  530; 
overwhelmed  by  the  news  of  Saratoga, 
269.  See  Ministry,  the  British 

North    Bridge,   the   fight  at,   45 

North  Carolina,  372,  382,  392,  401,  432; 
attitude  of,  toward  the  Crown  at  the 
outbreak  of  the  Revolution,  123;  raided 
by  Cornwallis,  126;  arrival  of  De  Kalb 
in,  373;  not  in  danger  of  British  attack,. 
426;  a  raid  in,  441 

North    River,    196.      See   Hudson    River 

Northcastle,    482,    483 

Norwich,    473 

OGEECHEE    RIVER,    354 

O'Hara,    General,    525 

Ohio   River,   the,   333,    339 

Old  North  Church,  in  Boston,  the,  lan 
terns  displayed  from  the  belfry  of,  by 
Paul  Revere,  32 

Oliver,  Lieutenant-Governor,  resignation 
of,  28 

Orange,   the    Prince    of,    181 

Orangeburg,    432 

Oriskany,     241,    248,    261 

'Oswald,  Richard,  540;  the  envoy  of  Lord 
Shelburne,  532  et  seq.;  negotiations  of, 
534-536 

Otis,  Harrison  Gray,  a  boy  when  the  Rev 
olution  broke  out,  41 

Otis,  James,  the  declaration  of,  23,  24, 
154,  i/5 

PACOLET    RIVER,    401 

Paine,  Thomas,  the  career  of,  153;  the 
great  influence  of  his  pamphlet  "Com 
mon  Sense,"  154,  155 

Paoli,    290 

Paris,  news  of  Yorktown  received  at,  529; 
the  peace  commission  at,  532  et  seq. 

Paris,  the  treaty  of,  352,  559,  561;  con 
cluded,  539 

Parker,  Admiral  Sir  Peter,  125,  133;  the 
inactivity  of,  128;  his  attack  on  Fort 
Sullivan,  129,  130;  at  Charleston,  134 

Pattison,    General,    467 

Paulding,    482 

Paulus   Hook,    463,    464,   467 

Peace   Commission,    the,   316,   317 

Pedee    River,    the,    375,    396,    410,    432 

Peekskill,    198 

Pendleton,    Edmund,    10 

Penn,  Richard,  bearer  of  a  petition  of 
Congress  to  the  King,  141;  refused  a 
hearing,  146 

Pennington    Road,    the,    212 

Pennsylvania,   215,    318,   333,   394,  457;    the 


INDEX 


60 1 


boundary  line  of,  144;  reluctance  of, 
to  begin  the  war,  146,  156;  voted  to  sus 
tain  Congress,  157;  not  in  favor  of  in 
dependence,  158,  159;  not  represented  m 
the  final  vote,  159;  criticism  of  the 
Legislature  of,  312,  313;  attacks  on  the 
frontier  of,  332 

Penobscot  River,  the,  467;  proposed  as  the 
eastern  boundary  of  the  United  States, 

Percy,  Lord,  198;  sent  by  General  Gage 
to  quell  an  uprising,  30;  the  march  of, 
to  Concord,  40  et  seq. ;  derided  by  a 
boy,  41;  the  withdrawal  of  his  troops, 
50;  furnished  with  plans  of  Fort  Wash 
ington,  200 

Perry,    563 

Peterloo,     555 

Petersburg,    502 

Philadelphia,  208,  300,  301,  302,  312,  313,  315, 
317,  323,  328,  353,  362,  393,  453,  457, 
463,  476,  477,  495,  511,  512,  527,  543; 
in  1774,  i  et  seq.;  advance  on,  contem 
plated  by  the  British,  205;  panic  in, 
205,  207;  captured  Hessians  marched 
through,  by  the  Americans,  212;  the 
marches  of  Washington  to,  282;  taken 
possession  of  by  Cornwallis,  290;  with 
drawal  of  Howe  to,  from  Germantown, 
295;  in  Howe's  complete  possession, 
299;  ovation  to  Howe  on  the  occasion 
of  his  recall,  316;  left  by  Clinton,  318 

Phillips,    250,    256 

Phillips,    General,    499,    501,    502 

Pickens,  Colonel,  355,  369,  373,  402,  405; 
at  the  siege  of  Augusta,  414,  417,  418, 
432 

Pigot,  General,  leader  of  the  British  as 
sault  at  Bunker  Hill,  81;  retreat  of,  83 

Pilot    Mountain,     383 

Pitcairn,    Major,   ordered   to    Lexington,    35 

Pitfour,    Lord,   380 

Pitt,  William,  14,  94,  125,  450,  558.  See 
Chatham,  Lord 

Pitt,   Fort,  345 

Point    of    Fork,    the,    503 

Point    Levi,     107 

Pomeroy,  68;  arrival  of,  at  Charlestown, 
80 

Pontiac's  War,  400 

Poor,   256,    261,   319 

Porterfield,    Colonel,    375 

Portland,    121 

Portsmouth,  N.  H.,  499,  500,  505;  supplies 
at,  taken  from  the  British,  29;  the  plan 
of  Washington  to  defend,  121 

Prescott,  Colonel  William,  74,  78,  80,  84, 
93;  at  Bunker  Hill,  77  et  seq.;  his  call 
for  reinforcements,  87;  his  stand  at  the 
third  attack,  88;  gave  the  order  to  re 
treat,  89,  90 

Prescott,  Dr.  Samuel,  bore  news  of  the 
approach  of  the  British  to  Concord, 
32-34 

Prevost,  355;  to  be  in  command  of  the 
southern  campaign,  353;  two  expeditions 
sent  put  by,  354;  his  movements  in 
Georgia.  355,  356;  ordered  by  D'Estaing 
to  surrender,  357;  his  brave  defence,  358 

Prince    of  Wales,    the,    372 

Princeton,  217,  226,  264,  281,  323,  493; 
the  battle  of,  218  et  seq. 

Privateers,    110 

Pulaski,    268,    309;    mortally    wounded,    358 

Putnam,  Israel,  196;  made  major-general, 
68;  arrival  of,  at  Charlestown,  80;  his 
generalship  at  Bunker  Hill,  88;  in  com 


mand  on  Long  Island,  189;  failed  to 
assist  Washington  at  Trenton,  208;  de 
ceived  by  Clinton,  255 

QUARRY  HILL,  seizing  of  stores  at,  by  the 
British,  28 

Quebec,  400;  the  expedition  against,  106 
et  seq. ;  withdrawal  of  the  American 
troops  from,  109;  Arnold  at,  475 

Quebec    Act    of    1774,    the,    534 

eueen    Victoria,    567 
uibbletown,    281 

RADEAU,    the,    230 

Randolph,  Peyton,  7;  elected  president  of 
the  first  Congress,  18;  president  of  the 
second  Congress,  64,  65;  his  successor 
from  Virginia,  66 

Rahl,    198;   at   Trenton,    208;   shot,  212 

Ramapo,    281 

Ramsour's   Mills,    411 

Rapidan,    the,    503 

Rawdon,  Lord,  375,  425,  426,  431,  496, 
497;  an  efficient  commander,  399;  attack 
of,  on  Greene,  427,  428;  went  to  the 
relief  of  Ninety-six,  434;  Ninety-six 
evacuated  by,  435;  sailed  for  England, 
436;  captured  by  the  French,  439 

Reading,    290 

Red    Bank,    296,   299 

Reed,    Joseph,    394,    477,    493 

Reedy    rork,    423 

Reform   Bill,  the,   555 

Revere,  Paul,  the  organizer  of  a  band  to- 
watch  the  movements  of  the  British,  31; 
•the  ride  of,  32-34 

Revolution,  the  American,  passim;  signifi 
cance  of,  12  et  seq.;  the  first  bloodshed 
of,  36;  its  approach  not  recognized  till 
late,  143;  the  meaning  of,  552  et  seq.; 
the  effects  of,  on  England  and  America, 
560  et  seq. 

Revolution,  the  French,  553,  554,  555,  557, 
560 

Rhode  Island,  325;  the  demand  of,  for  a 
navy,  145;  withdrawal  of  Clinton  from, 
362,  468;  departure  of  the  French  from, 
508 

Richmond,  395,  498,  499,    501,   502,   504 

Riedesel,   250,   251,   256 

Robinson,    Beverly,   479 

Rocheblave,  339;  attacked  at  Kaskaskia, 
340-343;  his  escape,  344 

Rockingham,  Lord,  530,  534.  See  Minis 
try,  the  British 

Rocky    Mount,    372 

Rodney,  479,    511,   513,    539,    543 

Rousseau,    276 

Roxbury,    arrival    of   the    British    at,    41,    42 

Roxbury    Neck.      See    Boston    Neck 

Rugely    Mills,    428 

Runnymede,     175 

Russell,    Lord  John,    172,    301 

Russia,  554,  556;  refused  troops  to  Eng 
land,  181,  271;  the  neutrality  of,  452 

Rutledge,    4 

Rutledge,  John,  4,  127,  133;  President  of 
South  Carolina,  126 

SALEM,    the    danger    of   a    conflict    at,    29 

Salisbury,    411,    412 

Sandwich,    Lord,   81,  82,  83,  93,   95 

Sandy  Beach,   459 

Santee    River,  the,   364,   411,   414,    435,    436 

Saratoga,  374,  401,  501,  530;  Burgoyne  at, 
258-261;  the  results  of,  263  et  seq.;  the 
news  of,  how  received  in  England,  269;. 


602 


INDEX 


the  news  of,  in  France,   270;  Washington 
grateful   for   the   victory  of,   302 
Savannah,    125,    355,    357,    369,    448,     514; 
captured    by   Campbell,    354;    the    decision 
of    Lincoln     to    march    against,    356;    the 
attack    of    D'Estaing   on,    358;   evacuated 
by    the    British,    442 
Savannah    River,    the,    355,    356,    364 
Schuyler,    Philip,    6S,    242,    261,     280, 


put  in  charge  of  military  affairs  in 
York,  99;  his  need  of  supplies,  141 
down  an  uprising  in  the  Mohawk,  155; 


aided  Washington,  207;  his  difficulties 
in  the  northern  campaign,  232,  233;  his 
method  of  delaying  the  British  advance, 
234-236;  his  orders  disregarded  by  Stark, 
243;  superseded  by  Gates,  248 

Schuylkill,   the,   289,   295 

Scott   at    Trenton,    217 

Seabury,    Samuel,     152 

"Serapis,"   the,   450 

Sevier,    382,    386,    389 

Shabbakong   Creek,    217 

Shelburne,  Lord,  530,  531,  535;  diplo 
matic  correspondence  of  Franklin  with, 
532-534;  Franklin's  dexterous  method  of 
dealing  with,  540 

Shelby,   Isaac,   381,  382,  383,  386,  389 

Sheridan,    320 

Sherman,  Roger,  4;  on  a  committee  to 
draft  the  Declaration  of  Independence, 

1.57 

Shippen,    Miss,    477 

Silver  Creek,   383 

Simcoe,    503 

Six   Nations,    the,  468 

Skenesboro',    63,    233,    235 

"Skinners,"    482 

Slavery,  the  paragraph  regarding,  in  the 
Declaration  of  Independence,  167 

Smith,   Joshua  Hett,  479,   480,  481,  489 

Smith,  Lieutenant-Colonel,  the  march  of, 
to  Lexington,  34,  35;  the  advance  of  his 
troops  to  Concord,  40  et  seq. ;  the  return 
of,  to  Lexington,  46 

Somerset    Court    House,    221 

South  Carolina,  354,  355,  356,  357,  367,  372, 
436,  530,  572;  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Revo 
lution,  123,  124;  the  campaign  in,  126  et 
seq.;  the  victory  in,  135;  the  votes  of, 
in  Congress,  159;  the  helplessness  of, 
361;  ravaged  by  the  British,  364,  365; 
nearly  clear  of  the  enemy,  432 

.Spain,  452,  539,  540,  541,  554,  555,  556,  561; 
persuaded  to  send  aid  to  America,  267; 
reluctance  of,  to  act  with  France,  269; 
indifference  of,  271;  the  hostility  of, 
330,  33i;  exhausted  by  war,  450,  451; 
Jay  an  envoy  to,  453,  532;  aid  of,  to 
be  sought  in  an  invasion  of  Florida,  506; 
disregarded  by  Franklin  in  the  peace 
negotiations,  533,  535;  opposition  of  Jay 
to  negotiations  with,  535;  the  war  of 
the  United  States  with,  567,  568,  574 

Spartanburg,   401 

Spear,   Major,   288 

Spencer,    68 

Springfield,    470 

St.    Augustine,    354 

St.  Clair,  at  Fort  Ticonderoga,  232,  233; 
arrival  of,  in  the  South,  442 

St.  Johns,  230,  474;  captured  by  Mont 
gomery,  1 06 

St.   John's,   Georgia,   66 

St.  Lawrence  River,  474;  campaigns  in  the 
valley  of,  106  et  seq 

St.     Leger,    Colonel,    231,    242;    his    attack 


on  Fort  Stanwix,  236-241;  his  defeat, 
248 

St.   Simon,   512 

Stamp   Act,    the,    25,    26,    150 

Stanwix,  Fort,  to  be  reduced  by  the  Brit 
ish,  231;  besieged,  236  et  seq.;  the  siege 
raised,  241 

Stark,  John,  80,  87,  212,  261;  at  Charles- 
town  on  the  Connecticut,  242;  at  the 
battle  of  Bennington,  243-247;  at  Fort 
Edward,  258 

Staten    Island,    185,   281,   470,    511 

Sterling,  Lord,  in  command  at  the  battle 
of  Long  Island,  190 

Steuben,  Baron,  309,  395,  498,  502,  503; 
the  value  of  his  services  to  Washington 
at  Valley  Forge,  314;  assigned  to  the 
Southern  Department,  394 

Stevens,   Colonel,  375,   376,  378,  419 

Stewart,  Lieutenant-Colonel,  in  command 
at  Charleston,  439;  the  retreat  of,  440, 
441 ;  confined  in  Charleston,  442 

Stony    Brook,    221 

Stony   Point,    456,  459,  467,  468 

Strachey,  Henry,  peace  negotiations  of, 
536,  539 

Sullivan,  General  John,  68,  189,  289;  his 
doctrine  of  State  rights,  18;  captured  by 
the  British,  190;  aided  Washington,  207; 
at  the  attack  on  Trenton,  211,  212;  his 
failure  to  guard  the  fords  of  the  Bran- 
dywine,  287;  his  army  routed,  288;  on 
the  offensive  at  Germantown,  291-295; 
at  Newport,  325-327;  expedition  of, 
against  the  Six  Nations,  468;  sent  to 
quell  a  mutiny,  493 

Sullivan's   Island,    126,    128 

Sumter,  Colonel  Thomas,  369,  373,  392, 
393,  414,  427,  435,  446;  the  wrong  in 
flicted  upon,  370;  the  attack  on  Huck, 
371;  attack  of,  on  the  British  at  Rocky 
Mount,  372;  asked  for  some  of  Gates's 
men,  375;  his  forces  destroyed,  379;  re 
pulsed  Tarleton,  393;  Orangeburg  taken 
by,  432;  eluded  by  Rawdon,  434 

Sunbury,    354;     reduced,     355 

"Swamp    Fox,"   369 

Swedes    Fort,   the,   289 

Sycamore   Shoals,   382 

TALLMADGE,    MAJOR    BENJAMIN,   483 

Tarleton,  370,  379,  380,  386,  390,  406,  410, 
412,  416,  418,  420,  503,  505,  516;  cru 
elty  of,  in  South  Carolina,  364;  repulsed 
by  Sumter,  393;  detached  to  follow 
Morgan,  401 ;  his  attack  on  Morgan,  402, 
405 

Tennessee,    381 

Tennessee    River,    the,    339 

Texas,    573 

Thomas,    68 

Thomson,  Charles,  elected  Secretary  of 
the  first  Congress,  18 

Thomson,  of  Orangeburg,  127;  sent  by 
Moultrie  to  watch  Clinton,  129,  130 

Ticonderoga,  Fort,  59,  113,  138,  141.  225, 
228,  261,  279,  474,  475;  the  capture  of, 
62  et  seq.;  St.  Clair  attacked  in,  232, 
233;  American  prisoners  released  by  an 
attack  on,  250 

Tories,  106,  354,  399.  4^8,  477;  power  of, 
in  New  York,  184 

"Tornado,"    458 

Townshend,    Lord,    467 

Tremont    Street,   in    Boston,    41 

Trenton,  226,  242,  264,  323,  324;  advance 
of  the  British  to,  205;  the  British  sur- 


INDEX 


603 


prised  in,  208-212;  the  battle  of  Tren 
ton,  216,  217 

Troublesome    Creek,    424 

Trumbull,  John,  152;  his  satire  of  Mc- 
Fingal,  153 

Tryon,  Governor,  106,  121,  184;  expedi 
tion  of,  into  Connecticut,  455 

Turgot   opposed  to   Yergennes,  267 

Tybee, '354;   arrival   of    Clinton  at,   362 

UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA,  the,  the 
recognition  of,  desired  by  Jay,  535;  the 
effects  of  the  Revolution  on  England 
and,  560  et  seq. ;  England's  treatment 
of,  after  the  Revolution,  561,  562;  the 
Constitution  of,  572 

VALCOUR,    228 

Yalcour   Bay,   476 

Valley  Forge,  300,  312,  313,  318,  324,  460; 
hardships  of  the  winter  in,  303-306;  re 
lief  from  hardship  at,  314 

Van   Buskirk,   464 

Van  Wart,  482- 

Vaughan,  255;  a  cause  of  alarm  to  Gates, 
258 

Venezuela,    566 

Vergennes,  271,  295,  331,  528;  sent  M. 
de  Bonvouloir  on  a  secret  mission  to 
America,  266;  opposed  in  the  French 
Cabinet,  267;  interviewed  by  Deane, 
268;  received  Franklin,  269;  pleased  by 
the  victory  at  Saratoga,  270;  the  reli 
ance  of,  on  Spain,  330;  negotiations  of 
Franklin  with,  533,  534 

Vermont,   59,    243,   247 

Verplanck's    Point,   456,   468 

Versailles,  American  commissioners  re 
ceived  by  the  French  King  at,  270; 
the  news  of  Yorktown,  how  received  at, 
528 

Ville  de  Paris,   the,   514 

Vincennes,  344,  345;  arrival  of  Hamilton 
at,  346;  Hamilton  attacked  in,  347-351 

Yiomenil,  the   Baron   de,   519 

Virginia,  59,  65,  66,  126,  265,  333,  344, 
380,  392,  400,  410,  501,  502,  503,  507,  508, 
511,  526,  572;  delegates  at  first  Ameri 
can  Congress  from,  7  et  seq. ;  the  at 
tacks  of  Lord  Dunmore,  121-123;  resist 
ance  of,  to  British  power,  146;  favored 
independence,  156;  attacks  on  the  fron 
tier  of,  332;  Clark  aided  by,  338;  pris 
oners  sent  to,  352;  the  response  of,  to 
the  call  for  men,  373;  cleared  of  the 
enemy,  441;  raid  of  Matthews  in,  455; 
raids  of  the  British  in,  497  et  seq.;  im 
portance  of  the  situation  in,  500 

Voltaire,  meeting  of,  with  Franklin,  272- 
275;  his  scepticism,  275,  276 

Vulture,  the,  479,  480,  481 ;  escape  of  Arnold 
on,  487 

WABASH    RIVER,    the,   347 

Wade,   487 

\Yalpole,   Horace,    12 

Walpole,    Sir    Robert,    13 

War,   the  Seven    Years',   12 

War  of   1812,   the,   563 

Ward,  General  Artemus,  68,  78;  his  opin 
ion  of  the  plan  to  take  an  offensive  posi 
tion  against  the  British  in  Boston,  72,  73 

Warner,  Seth,  247;  Crown  Point  seized  by, 
63 

Warren,  Joseph,  52;  summoned  from  Bos 
ton  to  quell  disorder  in  Cambridge,  28; 


warned  people  of  the  approach  of  the 
British,  32;  arrival  of,  at  Charlestown, 
80;  killed  at  Bunker  Hill,  89 
Washington,  George,  93,  118,  135,  138, 
142,  143,  144,  146,  149,  150,  160,  180,  183, 
248,  261,  269,  270,  279,  283,  295,  316, 
317.  328,  356,  361,  362,  374,  394,  395, 
401,  408,  409,  415,  459,  468,  478,  483, 
495,  496,  497,  501,  502,  508,  512,  513,  530, 
57 J>  5755  at  the  first  Continental  Con 
gress,  9-12;  a  leader  at  the  second  Con 
gress,  57;  chosen  commander  of  the 
Continental  Army,  67;  his  acceptance  of 
the  command,  68;  left  Philadelphia,  98, 
99;  took  command  of  the  Continental 
troops  on  Cambridge  Common,  100;  his 
mode  of  organizing  the  army,  101-104; 
sent  expeditions  to  Canada,  106-109;  be 
sieged  Boston,  no;  his  victory  over  the 
British  in  Boston,  114  et  seq.;  his  plan 
to  fortify  Portsmouth,  121;  his  need 
of  supplies,  141;  empowered  by  Con 
gress  to  recruit  a  new  army,  145;  his 
conservatism,  151;  his  complaint  to 
Congress,  158;  desired  reinforcements, 
159;  left  Boston  with  his  army,  for  New 
York,  184;  the  fight  for  the  Hudson, 
185-201;  ordered  the  evacuation  of  Fort 
Lee,  202;  in  hard  straits,  205  et  seq.; 
given  full  power  by  Congress,  207;  the 
night  attack  of,  on  Trenton,  208-212; 
at  the  battle  of  Trenton,  215,  217;  at 
the  battle  of  Princeton,  218  et  seq.; 
situation  confronting,  223-227;  the  cam 
paign  of  1777  in  the  middle  States,  280; 
his  movements  in  the  winter  and  spring, 
281;  marched  to  Philadelphia,  282;  his 
army  encamped  at  Chad's  Ford,  284; 
determined  to  attack  Knyphausen,  287; 
relinquished  the  idea  of  moving  upon 
Knyphausen,  288;  faced  Howe  at  West 
Chester,  289;  tricked  by  Howe,  290; 
plan  of,  to  fall  on  Germantown,  291, 
292;  Howe's  plan  to  drive  him  beyond 
the  mountains,  299;  went  into  winter 
quarters  at  Valley  Forge,  300;  his  fail 
ures  complained  of  in  Congress,  301; 
grateful  for  the  victory  at  Saratoga,  302; 
his  camp  at  Yalley  Forge,  303  et  seq. ; 
criticised  in  Congress  by  Clark,  306; 
plotted  against  by  Con  way,  309-311; 
contrast  between  the  conditions  in  his 
army  and  among  the  British  soldiers, 
312  et  seq.;  assumed  the  offensive,  315; 
at  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  318-323;  the 
end  of  the  campaign,  324;  persuaded 
D'Estaing  to  go  to  Newport,  325;  held 
Clinton  fast,  327;  urged  the  withdrawal 
of  Lincoln  from  Charleston,  364;  sent 
De  Kalb  South,  373;  allowed  by  Con 
gress  to  select  a  commander,  393;  Mor 
gan  a  friend  of,  400;  Wayne  sent  South 
by,  441;  determination  of,  to  keep  the 
Hudson  open,  449;  his  pleading  with 
Congress  for  increased  resources,  453; 
his  hardships,  454;  a  defensive  attitude 
the  only  possible  one,  455;  decision  of, 
to  take  Stony  Point,  456;  the  reply  of 
Wayne  to,  458;  reluctant  to  approve  one 
of  Lee's  plans,  463;  planned  an  expedi 
tion  in  western  New  York,  468;  lack  of 
the  support  of  Congress,  469;  threw 
Clinton's  force  back  on  New  York,  470, 
471;  his  bitter  letters  to  Congress,  472; 
departure  of,  for  Hartford,  473;  fond 
ness  of,  for  Arnold,  476;  his  laudatory 
reprimand  of  Arnold,  477;  plot  of  Ar- 


604 


INDEX 


nold  to  lure  him  to  West  Point,  479; 
letter  of  Andre  to,  484;  his  conduct, 
after  the  discovery  of  Arnold's  treason, 
487  et  seq. ;  retirement  of,  into  winter 
quarters,  490;  his  outlook,  in  the  fall 
of  1780,  491,  49^;  quelled  a  mutiny, 
493;  letter  of,  to  Laurens,  494;  Lafay 
ette  detached  by,  to  pursue  Arnold,  499; 
determination  of,  to  deal  a  decisive 
blow,  506;  consultation  of,  with  De 
Rochambeau,  507;  preparations  of,  for 
action,  509  et  seq.;  the  feigned  attack 
on  Xew  York,  511;  appeal  of,  to  De 
Grasse,  514;  at  Yorktown,  515  et  seq.; 
surrender  of  Cornwallis  to,  525;  after 
the  victory  at  Yorktown,  543  et  seq.; 
his  way  of  dealing  with  his  discontented 
army,  544-546;  his  unselfishness,  549; 
took  leave  of  his  officers,  550 

Washington,    Mrs.,    10 

Washington,  Colonel  William,  396,  402, 
405,  416,  420,  423,  428,  446 

Washington,  Fort,  229;  advance  of  the 
British  on,  199;  taken,  200-202 

Wataree    River,    the,    439 

Watauga   River,  the,  382 

Watertown,    99 

Watson,    428,    431 

W'atson,    Fort,    433 

Waxhaw,    370,   386 

Wayne,  General  Anthony,  288,  289,  319, 
464,  467;  surprised  at  Paoli  by  the 
British,  290;  his  battery  at  White- 
marsh,  295;  sent  by  Washington  to  re 
inforce  Greene,  441;  detached  for  opera 
tion  in  Georgia,  442;  tribute  of,  to 
Greene,  447;  account  of,  456-458;  reply 
of,  to  Washington,  458;  attack  of,  on 
Stony  Point,  459,  460;  ordered  to  join 
Lafayette,  501,  502;  conjunction  of, 
with  Lafayette,  503,  504;  at  Green 
Spring,  505 

Webster,    377 

Webster,    Captain,    487 


Webster,   Daniel,   487 

Wedderburn,    58 

Weedon,    515 

Wellington,   302 

West  Chester,   289 

West  Indies,   the,  357,  507,   514,   562 

West  Point,  327,  456,  484,  487,  502;  plot 
of  Arnold  to  give  over,  478  et  seq. 

Westham,    499 

Wethersfield,     507 

Whigs,   the,    436,   530 

Whiskey    Rebellion,   the,   573 

White   Plains,    198 

Whitemarsh,    295,   299,   300,    302 

Wilkes,     15 

Wilkinson,  resigned  the  secretaryship  of  a 
board  of  war,  3 1 1 

Willet,    Colonel,    at   Fort   Stanwix,    240 

William    of    Orange,    457 

Williams,    41 

Williams,    482 

Williams,  Colonel  Otho,  375,  377,  396, 
415,  418,  446 

Williamsburg,    504,    514 

Wilmington,    Del.,   283 

Wilmington,  S.  C.,  418,  419,  425;  evacu 
ated,  441 

Winnsborough,    392 

Wolfe,    399 

Wood  Creek,   235 

Wopster,    68 

Wright,   Sir   James,   124,    125 

Wyoming,    145 

YADKIN   RIVER,   411,   412,   414 

Yorktown,  324,  441,  530,  543,  544,  553, 
559;  fortified  by  Cornwallis,  505;  ad 
vance  of  the  Americans  to,  511,  514,  the 
march  to,  515;  the  siege  of,  516  et  seq.; 
Washington's  generalship  at,  522;  the 
surrender  at,  525-527;  the  news  of,  re 
ceived  in  France,  528,  529;  the  news  of, 
in  England,  529  et  seq.;  Washington's 
operations  after  the  victory,  543  et  seq. 


THIS  BOOK JCS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 

14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below, 
or  on  the  date  to  which  renewed.  Renewals  only: 

Tel.  No.  642-3405 

Renewals  may  be  made  4  days  prior  to  date  due. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


?•••?• 


It    JWI19T5 
Oil  go 


EEC.  CIR.  APR    ^  "84 


LD21A-40m-8,'71 
(P6572slO)476-A-32 


General  Li 

University  of  C 

Berkele 


LD9-30W-3,'  74  ( R6900s4 )  41 85- 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


1  .  . 


^  # 


